Aftermath
by CCBug
Summary: The Grand Cleric is dead, the Circle saved, and Lorelai Hawke faces an uncertain future. Betrayed by her apostate lover and wrongfully labeled his accomplice, her friends scramble to her aid. But when Lorelai sinks into the oblivion of her darkest secret, Sebastian Vael vows to protect the woman he loves anyway he can.
1. A Beginning At The End

**A Beginning at the End**

Aveline sighed heavily, looking up from the mountain of reports she was trying to review before she would finally go home. In the eleven days since the horrific events at the chantry, the defeat of Knight-Commander Meredith, and the Champion's defense of the Circle in Kirkwall, she and her guard had struggled to keep the vast city from simply slipping into complete anarchy.

Matters were, of course, worst in Hightown. The magnitude of the explosion at the chantry had obliterated several blocks in its immediate vicinity, and several dozen homes had been lost. The structural damage could be seen throughout most of Hightown; only places beyond the Market were usable, and even some of those homes were structurally unsound.

After the fighting had ended, after Hawke had sheathed her blades and turned to leave the Gallows and the last of the Templars had fallen in under Knight–Captain Cullen's command, Aveline - as well as the rest of Hawke's devoted group - had scrambled to board a small vessel back to the heart of Kirkwall with her. None in their battle-weary group missed how Hawke deliberately kept her eyes averted from the burning city, how she intensely watched the water splash upon the bow.

Merrill had been the only one to approach Hawke. She had stood next to the rogue, tentatively glancing over her shoulder at the others. The two women were far from being called friends, but the small blood mage had caught the rogue's hand in her own, and it was telling that Hawke hadn't pulled away.

When their ship reached the west docks, no one had made a move to disembark. Aveline recalled their collective silence, their stillness as they waited for their leader – their friend – to do something. It was Fenris who had finally spoken - had begun to ask her what they should do next - but Hawke had interrupted him. Turning around to face them all for the first time since they had left the Gallows, Aveline had been shaken to her core at the pain shining in her friend's green eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Lorelai Hawke had said in a small voice, her eyes not quite meeting any of theirs. "I'm sorry for believing him, for what…for what I've done, for what I _let_ him do…he…I can't…I didn't…" she stammered, struggling for words. It was with heartbreak that they had watched the Champion's face crumple, sobs violently wracking her frame until Sebastian stepped close, his long fingers touching her shoulder.

"Lorelai," he had whispered, his grave brogue betraying his own pain.

"I won't cry," she had said to herself, roughly wiping away her tears and stepping back from the archer's touch. She had looked at each of them and had drawn a heavy breath. "Thank you," she said a moment later, her voice stronger. "Thank you, truly," she repeated and stepped onto the dock, her stride carrying her quickly away.

Varric looked at his friends and then hurried onto the dock. "Sweetheart? Lorelai!" he called after her. Lorelai had paused but did not turn to face them. "What about…what about his body?" he had asked, referring to Anders.

She had squared her shoulders, turning her head slightly to answer. "What about it?" she had replied and then walked away.

Merrill had turned back to the group; her large eyes alight with anxiety. "She'll regret that – leaving him. She's hurting, I know it, but when she's more herself…"

"You mean _if_ she's ever herself," Varric snarled, interrupting the Dalish mage. He pointed up the sloping city skyline toward the smoldering ruins that had once been the magnificent main chantry of Kirkwall. "How in the Maker's ass do you think she's ever going to be herself again? Look at what he's done!"

Eventually it was Fenris who had gone to retrieve the body of Lorelai Hawke's lover. Anders, who had professed his love for Lorelai, and friendship towards the others, had ultimately betrayed everyone in his life. He had been left for dead in Lowtown that fateful day, Lorelai's blade deeply lodged in his back. "I shall see to it. I will rid her of him, once and for all," the warrior had coldly vowed as they all left the docks.

It wasn't until Aveline had seen Varric a few days after that she'd learned Fenris had not been able to locate Anders' body; she reasoned that her vigilant City Guard had cleared it with the rest of the bodies that now burned on the pyres that had been erected in the Bazaar.

Although Isabella had left the city on the night of the battle, the others had tried to return to their lives. A day or so later, Aveline found herself standing at the Hanged Man's entrance, the door loose in its frame. The bartender there, Corff, had hired a few straggling Templars to move the debris that blocked the entrance to the tavern; the Qunari, Maraas, being a surprisingly good director of their efforts.

While Aveline was unsure why she had come to be standing there - for a more reasonable choice would have been to return to her husband, Donnic, and home, to rest after the end of a very long day - she had been very pleased to discover that most of the others had already gathered inside.

Although it was never certain who might be at the tavern at day's end, each had found their way there. It was not something they talked about, but their need to be together was deeply felt, each seeking solace in the bond forged in the preceding events. Merrill and Varric were there each and every night, Fenris, more nights than not; even Sebastian stopped by that first night Aveline had, but Lorelai had not been seen since she left the docks.

Varric had sought out Aveline a few days earlier, the temporary headquarters for her Guard now ironically located within the Blooming Rose. "I'm worried about her," Varric had confided to Aveline. "She won't see me, and Bodhan says she's not left the mansion since she returned last week," he stated, concern showing in his eyes.

"She killed the man she loved, Varric," Aveline had answered. "He used her, took advantage of her and lied almost every step of the way; she's devastated. She just needs some time."

Varric's eyes narrowed. "Bodhan says she hasn't left her mother's room since a few days after the battle. He's says she's barely eating," the dwarf continued, "that all she does is sit in the corner of the veranda off her mother's old room. She's not talking, she's not even responding. I went there – I tried," he had said emphatically. "We've got to do something, Aveline. Even Bethany says she has never seen her like this."

After Varric left, Aveline had spent the rest of her day distracted by his concerns. As soon as she could, she had gone to Lorelai and found that Varric, for once, had not been exaggerating. Lorelai had not acknowledged Aveline, and, despite her efforts to get her dear friend to respond, eventually the two had sat in silence, Aveline gently kissing her friend's cold and dirty cheek in farewell once evening came.

Tonight, Aveline intended to try again.

A knock sounded at her office door and Aveline called "Enter!" looking up in surprise to see that her visitor was Sebastian Vael. The blue-eyed Prince of Starkhaven approached the desk Aveline sat behind and offered a small smile.

"Aveline, a pleasure to see you," he said.

"And you as well, Sebastian," she answered. "I looked for you while on patrol the other day, down in Lowtown where the chantry has relocated," she said. "I would have thought to see you there. Where have you been keeping yourself?" she inquired as she gestured for him to take one of the vacant seats before her.

Sebastian sat and leaned forward, his eyes finding hers as he replied. "As you know, I went straight to the chantry from the docks," he began. "Of course, nothing was there," he said softly, clearing his throat. "To answer your question, I've been aiding with the wounded, working for Mother Clara to look after all we can," he explained. "I've also been doing a lot of thinking," he continued, "which is why I'm here. I've decided that the best thing I can do to serve the Maker, to honor Elthina, is to return to Starkhaven."

Aveline sat back in her chair. "I…really? I have to admit I am more than a little shocked," she replied. "I know I've made my fair share of comments about your nobility, about your responsibilities to your people there," she explained, "but I thought you told Hawke you were staying in the Chantry," she finished.

Sebastian looked down at his hands before glancing up at her again. "I know what I told Hawke," he said. "But I also now know that the Chantry is not fully the Maker's any longer," he explained. "There are significant political forces at play, forces of which I am ashamed to admit I chose to not see before."

"So you walk away?" Aveline asked flatly.

Sebastian's blue eyes flashed with anger. "I am hardly _walking_ away, Captain," he said stiffly. "War is coming, and despite the battle cries we've all heard, this is not a holy one. The Maker would have us pursue accord, not bloodshed," he reasoned. "I know for a fact that the Grand Cleric did not want to see the Divine march her forces against Kirkwall; she wanted the mages to be treated with dignity and respect. I cannot remain," he stated.

She watched him for a moment. "Why not?" she asked gently.

"I will only become a weapon," he answered. "If I remain I will be asked to use my skills in battle; that is not acceptable to me. There is no honor in murdering mages," he said. "I know the Circle can work, I believe that Andraste's purpose was a just and good one. But this is not going to be about Andraste – or justice – this is about power; power on a scale that I can only marvel at."

"And so you are taking the only way out you see, is that it?" she asked, trying to goad the reluctant Prince into revealing his intent.

"Why is it that no matter what I say, you must twist my words, woman?" he snapped. "Of course that's not it! I cannot serve the Maker by slaughtering in his name! But I can return to my home and ensure that the people of Starkhaven are prepared for whatever is coming," he finished.

Aveline smiled slowly and nodded. "Yes, that you can, indeed, Your Highness," she said.

Understanding registered in Sebastian's eyes and he arched an eyebrow. "Is that what all your nasty little barbs have been about all of these years?" he asked incredulously. Aveline only chuckled in response.

Sebastian stood up from his chair and bowed. "I intend to leave within the next few weeks," he informed her. "I will stay as long as I can reasonably do so, to help the Mother and sisters," he explained. "It will take a bit of time to make all the necessary arrangements anyway. There are many favors owed to my family, and I will have to call in each of them if I have any hope of success," he explained.

"I expect it won't be easy, taking back your home," Aveline agreed. "But I am very glad you have made this choice, Sebastian. I have always thought you would make a remarkable ruler," she confessed.

He inclined his head. "I can't say I entirely agree, but it does me good to know you feel that way," he replied and turned to leave. "Thank you."

Watching him go, a thought occurred to her. "Sebastian?" she called, stopping him. The handsome man turned back to face her and waited for her to continue. "Ah, I have a favor to ask of you," she said.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"Have you heard about Lorelai?" she began. "I mean, have you run into Varric?"

His eyes lit with an emotion Aveline could not quite name, but he quickly hid it. "Is she alright?" he asked casually.

Aveline came around the front of her desk and rested her hip against the front of it. "She's in a bad way, Sebastian," she whispered.

"We are all in a bad way," he answered harshly. "What _he_ did…" he began and then stopped, screwing his eyes shut before opening them and looking at Aveline. "What he did was beyond comprehension," he stated.

Aveline nodded sadly. "I know, Sebastian, and I'm sorry for all that you lost," she said. "But what Anders did to Lorelai…" she paused, and turned, her agitation forcing her to move. "You and I both know he used her," she fumed as she paced back and forth. "Used her for protection, used her faith in him to insulate himself, to commit his murders!" she said, her voice rising with her anger.

Sebastian did not readily reply, but his frown deepened. "I'm sure her pain is great," he finally admitted quietly.

"I was hoping you would go see her, try to talk to her. I know you care for her, that she counts the two of you as friends," she explained, and, seeing the uncomfortable look on his face, changed her tactic. "I went to see her myself. She didn't say a word; she didn't even look at me. It's been almost two weeks!"

He shook his head and turned to go. Placing his hand on the door knob, he paused, and looked back at Aveline. "Why are you telling me this? Surely it's Bethany you should be speaking with. I can do nothing for her, other than pray for her, and I assure you, I already do," he said. "Lorelai is a good and kind woman, and yes, I will admit that I care for her a great deal, but it's not my place to see to her," he said, his eyes not quite reaching Aveline's.

"You're one of her closest friends, Sebastian, she trusts you and…" Aveline began but the tall rogue interrupted.

"I warned her he was up to something," he said, his eyes now boring intensely into her own. "I asked her, Aveline, I asked her _so many times_ if he could truly be trusted – I asked her if he had ever told her what he was really doing in the chantry that day," he continued, his voice turning hard. "But no, oh no, he could do no wrong!"

He fell silent, and shifted his stance, drawing a ragged breath. "I know she did not directly aid Anders, but…" he paused again, rubbing his hands over his face and through his loose hair. "But the brutal facts are that he would _never_ have succeeded in his plot if she had simply asked him what he was doing!"

Aveline said nothing for a moment, but moved so she was within arm's reach of Sebastian. She rested her strong hand on his broad shoulder, the contact settling him. "If you think for one second that she doesn't hold herself wholly responsible, well, then you don't know her as well as I thought," she said, not surprised to see his eyes narrow in anger at her barb. "Of all of us, you're the only one who lost what she did; you might be able to reach her."

"What are you talking about? Anders was no friend of mine!" he snapped.

"No, but you both lost someone you loved," she reminded him.

Sebastian looked at Aveline for a long time, his features hardened by her words.

"Look, I only wanted you to know what was happening," Aveline reasoned in a conciliatory tone, unsure if she had harmed her cause with him. "The fact is, the entire city knows it was Anders who did all this, yet most are laying it at her feet," she continued. "With the arrival of more Templars, Bethany was forced to flee. Rightly or wrongly, Sebastian, we are all she has now, and from what Bodhan is telling us, she's in real trouble."

He raised his chin, looking up at the ceiling. With a huff, he turned on his heel and pulled open the captain's door. "I'll go, Aveline," he agreed and closed the door behind him.

Aveline stared at the back of the door, nodding slowly to herself. "Good," she murmured and turned back to finish her reports.

**xXx**

When Sebastian arrived at the Hawke Estate, he was still angry at Aveline's request of him, still unsettled by the intensity of his emotions. The loss of the Grand Cleric had been an excruciating blow to him, more so than the loss of his own family seven years ago.

Elthina had been a nurturing and loving force in his life; in truth she had been a mother to him. To have someone who was so giving and gentle - someone who clearly resonated the ideals of a true holy leader - snatched from them all, left Sebastian feeling unanchored and adrift. He was hardly in a place where he could help someone else, regardless of his stubbornly unacknowledged feelings for her, and especially because of her role in the devastation in his life.

Bodhan had greeted him warmly; urging Sebastian to mind his step as he escorted him past a temporary piling that was shoring up the eastern exterior wall, and inquiring after Sebastian's health. Yet the dwarf's hushed tone and wringing hands betrayed of his worry.

"I'm very glad you're here, Your Highness," he had said brightly. "It's times like these that you find out who your true friends are! As you can see, the place is in fairly good shape, but uh, well, we've been having all sorts of troubles," the self-appointed manservant admitted as he carefully tucked Sebastian's quiver and bow away. He gestured for Sebastian to hand over his cloak and respectfully draped the heavy fabric across a high-backed chair.

"What sort of 'troubles' Bodhan?" he asked the older man. Sandal enthusiastically waved at Sebastian as Bodhan led him into the main hall of the home; Sebastian returned the greeting, and then knelt to pet Lorelai's Mabari hound.

Bodhan smiled kindly at Sandal and lowered his voice. "Rubbish thrown at the doors and windows, hooligans and such; we had a group of thugs try to break in," he explained. Sebastian's eyes narrowed at that information and Bodhan raised his hand to stay the archer's reply. "No harm done, ser, none at all. Aveline's men were here in no time," he stated. "It's not that kind of thing that has me worried. It's the letters, the notes; people are mighty angry at what was done and our lady is the target of their ire."

"She did not know what Anders was planning," Sebastian argued, to his own surprise. "How can the people think she would defend them from the Qunari only to allow this?" he demanded.

Bodhan shook his head. "Oh, you don't have to convince me, ser," he answered. "But it's clear that many in Kirkwall do not agree," the dwarf stated. "It's a terrible thing, what he did to the chantry, to the Grand Cleric – to her," he continued. "I knew he was brash and outspoken," the dwarf elaborated, referring to Anders. "But from what I saw here, he doted on her; he was attentive and affectionate. I thought he loved her a great deal," he said with a sigh.

Bodhan led Sebastian to the foot of the staircase. "I wouldn't be so concerned about things," he said, returning to the original subject, "except that the Champion is in no condition to look after herself, and while I had my fair share of tussles in my youth, I am hardly able to defend against a mob."

"A mob?" Sebastian repeated, his eyes darting around the home. "Bodhan, send word to Fenris and Varric, ask them to come; we will take a look around the house, see what can be done to make it more secure," he ordered as he began walking up the stairs to the second floor. "Where is she?"

"She's in her mother's room, ser," Bodhan had answered as he hurried to follow the archer up the steps.

"Her mother's room? I thought she had closed it up after Leandra's murder?" Sebastian asked, pausing to look down at the dwarf.

"You're quite correct; she did. Lorelai moved into there a few days after the fighting in the city ended; she went in and hasn't been out since. She won't talk to me," Bodhan continued, "nor anyone else. But I reasoned that given the choice between being in her mother's room or in _theirs_," he said pointedly, "that her mother's seemed a better place to be. Can't say I blame her," he finished and resumed escorting Sebastian to Leandra's room.

The dwarf knocked sharply on the ornately-carved wood and did not wait for a reply, but instead, walked into the darkened outer room of the suite. "Lorelai? You've a visitor! His Highness Prince Vael has arrived and wishes to say hello. Lorelai?" he called.

After a moment's hesitation, Sebastian followed the man into the suite, stopping in the outer room as Bodhan ventured further in. The first thing Sebastian noticed was, that despite Bodhan's statement that Lorelai hadn't left the suite since she entered, the room appeared unused.

Bodhan returned to the outer room, the braids in his beard swaying subtly as he shook his head sadly. "She's out on the veranda, ser," he said quietly, his voice cracking with emotion. "See if you can't do something, please, ser; she's but a ghost of herself. I have never seen her in such a state," he pleaded as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sebastian turned to look up the short hallway that Bodhan had taken when looking for Lorelai and followed it. It opened into a small but beautifully appointed bedroom, the immaculately made bed on a delicate stand. The room was decorated tastefully, with many feminine touches throughout, and he spotted a set of double glass doors flanked by billowing silk curtains, leading to Lorelai.

He stepped out on to the veranda of Leandra Hawke's bedroom. He had only been in the Hawke estate a few times before today, and, while he had seen the gardens of the inner courtyard from the ground floor, the small balcony offered a whole new perspective of the area. It was beautiful; the sun washed over the flowerbeds, and the small graveled paths laid out an intricate pattern that was not discernable from below. His limited experiences with Lorelai's mother gave him a feeling that this veranda had been a favorite place of the deceased matriarch's. Looking to his right, his blue eyes widened with surprise as they rested on the small woman tucked into the corner of the area.

"Lorelai?" Sebastian said, his voice filled with worry. She was tucked into a tight ball, her back flush to the wall, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightgown. Her normally glossy chestnut hair was matted and greasy, and her chin rested on her knees.

"Lorelai, what are you doing?" he asked as he crouched down in front of her. His warm hand ran down her face, cupping her chin, but she didn't look at him. The vibrant, teasing woman he knew felt like ice, and it was obvious she hadn't bathed – she looked half-dead. "Was this Anders? What did he do to you, lass?" he whispered, his long finger running across her cheekbone. "This cannot continue, Lorelai - you've got everyone worried about you," he said softly. In a swift motion he stood and returned to the bed, pulling a finely-woven coverlet from its end. He strode through the room and opened the door to the hall, calling for Orana.

"Send up hot water, Lorelai will be getting a bath. Also, tell Bodhan to send for Merrill," he ordered the skittish former slave. With a quick bob, the elf was off, and Sebastian returned to the room. A moment later he stepped back out onto the veranda and again crouched in front of Lorelai, wrapping her into the coverlet he had taken from the bed.

"Lorelai, look at me," Sebastian commanded, his voice firm. "Lorelai, this is madness! Answer me," he bade her, again cupping her chin and turning her to face him. Her eyes were lifeless and did not alter from their focus on the garden.

Bodhan appeared in the doorway of the veranda. "Ser? You want me to send someone to get the elven mage? Did I understand Orana correctly?"

Sebastian looked up from his position in front of Lorelai. "I do. I want her to see Lorelai; she seems almost catatonic, and I worry that this is some kind of magic," he stated.

"Magic? But how? I thought Anders was dead?" Bodhan replied, his eyes wide with shock.

"I think it's wise to not underestimate what the man was capable of," Sebastian answered. "You said you hadn't seen her like this before," he queried. "Does that include her mother's death?"

"Yes, ser. She mourned, was heartbroken really, but even during those dark times, it was nothing like this," Bodhan said.

"For all we know Anders was a blood mage, or he left some sort of booby-trap for her here," Sebastian reasoned. "I have no idea, I don't know of such _things_," he growled as his eyes left Lorelai to focus on Bodhan. "What I do know is she was alert when I last saw her. Lorelai was upset, yes, but she was talking, thinking - by the Maker, she was here!" he rasped, his looking back to Lorelai. "This…this is not right," he whispered as he tucked the fabric more firmly around Lorelai's shoulders.

Bodhan said no more and hurried to do Sebastian's bidding.

It took the better part of an hour for Orana to direct Sandal on where to place the bathing tub, while she began lugging up buckets of steaming water. Once the tub was in place and the linens laid out beside it, Sandal too aided in the transport of the water. Sebastian sat with Lorelai whilst all the work was done, talking to her quietly, telling her what he had planned for Starkhaven, asking her opinion on various potential allies and enemies. With a heavy weight building inside his chest, he watched carefully for any sign of response from her, his distress growing with each lethargic blink of her eyes.

"Your Highness," called a soft voice, and Sebastian turned to see that Orana was standing at the threshold of the double doors. "Everything is ready for her, ser," she advised him.

Sebastian nodded his acknowledgement and turned back to Lorelai. "Lass, it's time to get cleaned up, to get dressed," he informed her. "Come now, before the water grows cold," he ordered gently.

"Ser, If you can lift her into the bath I will wash her," the small elf said. "I may need your help in getting her back out, though," she pondered with a slight frown.

"It would be inappropriate for me to see her unclothed," Sebastian replied.

"I can help you, Orana," said Merrill as she stepped onto the veranda. "I came as soon as I got your request Sebastian," she said with a bright smile. "Bodhan said you had some worries about Lorelai and magic?" she asked as her eyes settled on the blanket-covered woman in the corner. "Oh Creators, is she all right?"

"This is why I wanted you to come," Sebastian said, stepping out of Merrill's way as the mage settled down next to Lorelai.

"Lorelai?" Merrill said, snapping her fingers. "Oh my," whispered the blood mage when Lorelai didn't respond. "You suspect something magical has her like this?" she asked Sebastian, as she intensely watched the other woman. She lifted Lorelai's hands, checking each fingernail, and then leaned forward to grasp Lorelai's face in the palms of her hands. Slowly, she turned the rogue's face, scrutinizing the silent woman's eyes, before touching her lips.

Merrill popped back up on to her feet and stood back on her heels. "I'm not seeing anything to indicate this is magic, not a poison either," she announced. "I don't sense any magic, but I will stay with Orana and help get Lorelai cleaned up; it will give me more time to watch her. All right?" she asked.

Sebastian nodded.

"She's a good two stone heavier than I, you know, so be a help, won't you? Gather her up and bring her in," Merrill ordered as she breezed past him and entered the bedroom once more.

Sebastian watched the mage depart and carefully lifted Lorelai's light weight into his arms. She was stiff for a moment but to his great surprise she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck. "Lorelai?" he asked urgently, his heart pounding. "Lass, can you hear me?"

"I can't do it, Sebastian," she whispered against his neck.

Immediately he sat down on a veranda chair, gathering her to him and turning her in his lap to face him. "Tell me, Lorelai," he begged. "What can't you do?"

She slowly brought her green eyes to his and her chin began to quiver. "I can't drink the tea," she answered as tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I should, but I can't!"

Sebastian heard a gasp and looked up to see Merrill standing in the doorway, watching them.

"What tea?" he asked Lorelai, his confusion obvious. "I don't understand, Lorelai," he told her.

Merrill darted around to the front of them, kneeling by Lorelai, her hands flat out toward them and frantically running up and down the rogue. Sebastian's heart lurched as he felt Lorelai begin to tremble in his arms, and he cradled her more closely.

"Oh no, no, no," Merrill muttered. "Oh no," she repeated as her hands went still.

"What in the Maker's holy name is happening?" Sebastian demanded, unsure of what to do, his frustration growing at Merrill's obvious panic, but the elf remained silent. "Merrill!"

Merrill's eyes met Sebastian's. "She's pregnant."

Sebastian looked down at the friend in his arms and wrapped her more tightly to him, his mind screaming against Merrill's words. "Maker have mercy," he prayed as Lorelai Hawke sobbed in his arms.

_**A massive 'Thank You', as always to Lisa for her beta and her enthusiasm; I greatly appreciate all that you do.**_

_**Thank You for reading! **_


	2. My Love, My Life

**My Love, My Life**

Fenris paced back and forth by the fireplace, his hands clenched into tight fists. Varric was seated by Lorelai's writing desk, dumbstruck by Sebastian's news. The Prince had left Leandra's rooms after giving Lorelai over to the care of the two elves, and had returned to the main hall, waiting there until Fenris and Varric had answered his summons.

"Merrill is sure?" the dwarf asked Sebastian.

He nodded sadly, and folded his arms across his broad chest. "Yes, she is certain," he replied. "She wants a healer to come, to give some idea of how far along she is," he continued, "but there is no doubt that Lorelai is carrying Anders' child."

"She should drink the damned tea," Varric muttered under his breath, referring to the herbal concoction that a woman could drink to induce miscarriage.

"You cannot ask her to take the life of an innocent child, dwarf," Sebastian replied hotly.

"Innocent child?" Fenris snarled. "It's the byproduct of a coupling with an abomination! It should be destroyed before it can grow!"

Sebastian glared at Fenris. "Lorelai will make that decision, elf," he said flatly. "And I will not allow anyone to push her into something she doesn't want to do!"

"You would protect it?" Fenris demanded, charging toward the archer. "Are you not a man of faith? Does your Maker not abhor demons? Does Andraste not require the control of mages? Fear them?" he snapped. "Yet you would defend the life of whatever that _thing_ is that grows in Lorelai's belly?" he seethed.

"I would protect _her_!" Sebastian answered in a steely tone, looking down at the man who was standing toe-to-toe with him but refused to be intimidated, and leaned forward as he spoke again. "I will tell you what I told Anders – I will not see her harmed by another's ideas and desires. _She_ will make this choice!" he barked.

"Should I call in my Guard?"

"Ah, Aveline," Varric called in reply to the question. "As always, your timing is impeccable."

The tall, red-headed woman entered the main hall still dressed in her uniform plate. "Hello fellows," she continued. "What seems to be the trouble here?"

"Nothing too important," Varric replied, approaching the two men who were still squared off in the center of the main hall. Aveline approached from the other side and waited for Varric to continue, never taking her eyes off Sebastian and Fenris.

"It seems Anders left our Lorelai with a parting gift – his baby," Varric explained. "And these two don't quite agree on how this situation should be dealt with," he said.

Aveline's eyes snapped to Varric, her ready-to-fight posture relaxing as shock registered on her features. "What?" she asked.

"She is with child," Sebastian clarified softly, his eyes still locked with an angry Fenris'.

"She is _infected_!" Fenris countered.

"I'm telling you elf, I will not let you speak such things about Lorelai!" Sebastian snapped, pointing his finger at Fenris' face. Aveline grabbed Sebastian's wrist as Fenris pushed forward.

"Stop this! Stop this right now!" Aveline ordered as she shoved herself between the two men. Varric went back-to-back with the captain and placed his hands against Fenris' shoulders while Aveline took the same stance with Sebastian. "You are friends, gentlemen!" she barked. "You shall remember that!"

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders, pushing Aveline's hands off of them as he continued to glare at Fenris.

"Come on, elf, settle down," Varric said calmly. "No point in adding 'choir boy' to the list of people whose hearts you've melted; it'll only piss Lorelai off later," he teased half-heartedly.

Aveline turned to face Varric as Sebastian began to pace, the tension between him and Fenris still crackling between them. "Is that what's been going on with her?" Aveline asked the men. "She's pregnant?"

Varric nodded. "Yes, and apparently she's going to keep it," he explained.

"Nothing has been decided yet, dwarf," Fenris argued.

"What I'm trying to understand is how any of you think it's your place to even be discussing this," Aveline stated, glaring at each man, one-by-one. "Lorelai is hardly some naïve girl fresh from her family home. She's a…"

"She's a wreck, Aveline," Sebastian interrupted. "When she finally spoke to me, she was trembling so violently, I could barely hold her close enough! I worry that this is too much for her," he said, his concern apparent in his features and tone.

"All the more reason for the two of you not to be fighting in her hall like children in the chantry yard," Aveline scolded gently. "Anders is dead and gone, but this is her home. She's not alone - not at all," she continued. "We will get her through this."

"And what of the great and loving people of Kirkwall?" Fenris asked in a venomous tone. "What do you suppose they shall do when they see the crazed apostate's rumored accomplice swollen with his bastard? Do you suppose the Kirkwallers who now mourn their dead - who quake in their terror of the unrestrained apostates in their streets - will arrive in forgiving and understanding mob form?" he queried sarcastically. "Perhaps instead of pitchforks and scythes, they shall arrive with nappies and swaddle clothes instead?"

Aveline's eyes narrowed at Fenris' words. "The people of Kirkwall are good people - they haven't forgotten that Hawke saved them all from the Qunari," she replied. "They will not believe that Lorelai participated in Anders' plans."

"No, sorry Aveline, but there you're wrong," Varric said. "There are dozens of different rumors or theories as to how Anders succeeded so perfectly. Some are pretty close to the mark; some are downright insane, but every single one that I've heard all point the finger squarely at Lorelai. Regardless of what she does about _this_," the merchant sighed and then continued, "it's not safe for her in Kirkwall."

Sebastian's pacing ceased for a moment and he turned to the group. "She should leave," he announced.

"And go where?" Aveline asked. "Bethany is on the run, and will be for quite some time. Lorelai's family all hailed from Kirkwall, and I've never heard her mention any one she's close to back in Ferelden," she ruminated.

Sebastian however, was no longer listening; his handsome features hardened as he focused intensely on the flames dancing within the hearth.

Merrill appeared at the balcony overlooking the main hall. "Sebastian? We've gotten Lorelai all freshened and changed, but she's asking for…Aveline?" the mage said, interrupting herself as her eyes centered onto the woman below. "Oh, perfect! Never mind, Sebastian. Aveline? Lorelai was asking after you," she explained. "I'm going off to find Na'salla in the alienage; she's delivered most of the babes there, and I think she'll help and be discreet," she finished as she descended the stairs.

"So Lorelai has seen reason, then," Fenris assumed.

"About?" Merrill asked as she wrapped herself in her cape.

"This…this _problem_," Fenris said, showing great restraint and glancing pointedly at Sebastian.

"If you're asking me if I'm off to fetch someone here to rid her of it," Merrill said as she adjusted her sash, "then, no, I'm not. I'm going to get a midwife, someone who can at least tell Lorelai what's what," the elf finished as she looked back up at the group of friends. "Aveline, you should go on in. Sebastian," Merrill said as she turned to leave the house. "I don't know what you said to her, but well done. She's still a bit of a mess, but at least she's lucid. No blood magic – just pure and simple shock," she finished and breezed out of the room, departing for the alienage.

Aveline clapped Sebastian on the shoulder. "Thank the Maker you came, Sebastian! I knew you could get through to her," she commended before mounting the steps and disappearing through the door into Leandra's room.

Alone once more, the men were silent, each deep into their own thoughts and concerns.

"Come, night falls and we should prepare the property," Fenris finally announced.

"Yeah," Varric answered. "Just in case that forgiving mob drops by," he grumbled as he turned to follow the other two men outside.

**xXx**

The silence was distracting.

Over the last two days, what Anders could not escape was the absolute solitude of his own mind. He'd forgotten, over the years since he had opened himself to Justice as host, what it was like to be truly alone. It kept him awake, now.

Whenever all had been quiet around him, or whenever he had been alone, was when Justice had been the loudest, the clearest; the spirit's feelings and thoughts consuming Anders' mind. He thought he had grown used to it over time, but now, alone once more, he realized that he hadn't; he'd simply become exhausted and worn down by it. He hadn't grown accustomed – he'd grown numb – and who he had once been had buckled under the strength of Justice's will.

Justice had departed Anders' body as his life had ebbed away, and the spirit had made the desperate decision to abandon its dying host to inhabit the nearest viable vessel – an unconscious Templar, who had fallen near to where Anders was slowly bleeding to death. Anders' eyes had remained desperately focused on the new host as the Templar's body twitched violently before going still once more. He had then seen Justice slowly rise to his feet in his new body, and, crouching down beside him, the familiar voice came from a stranger's lips, vowing to continue their war against oppression before disappearing into the fray.

It had been his last coherent memory for a week.

When he awoke next, it was not in the Fade as he had anticipated, but in his own body. He recalled hearing voices that were hushed and urgent. After a few minutes he could open his eyes, but he saw very little, for either the room had been too dark or his eyes were too weak. Eventually, someone had noticed his minute movements and arrived at his side, telling him to rest, to be still.

"You rest there, mage, you're safe for now," a man's voice had assured him. He had slipped back into unconsciousness and did not hear anything more for another few days.

When he awoke for the second time, it was because he was being shaken violently, the same previously kind and calm voice whispering loudly against his ear. "Wake up, you! There's Templars coming!" the man had said frantically, the panic in his voice near terror. "I know you lost a lot of blood, but, by the Maker, get moving if you don't want to lose what little you've still got!"

So he'd tried to get to his feet, he'd tried to move his body. His eyesight was still blurred as he'd stumbled along behind those who he hoped he could trust, and he had soon recognized that he was in the heart of the abandoned mining tunnels beneath Darktown. Eventually, the people he had followed so blindly, stopped and huddled into an alley as a patrol of Templars passed. Once the all-clear was given, those with him dispersed, and he once again found himself alone, exhausted and completely disoriented.

He had slid slowly down the alley wall, hiding himself behind a few rotting crates, as he tried to understand what was happening, how he had come to be in Darktown instead of being dead. He remembered Justice leaving him, he remembered the horrible burning and pain from the knife lodged against his spine, he remembered praying that Lorelai would someday forgive him, that she would be able to move on. After that, his memory was a blank.

A few hours passed before a woman approached him, and Anders was by now too tired to try to flee. Hesitantly, she had reached out and touched his face, and he had struggled to meet her eyes.

"I _told_ Miriam it was you," the woman had said softly, sighing as she brushed Anders' blond hair out of his eyes. "Listen here, you're a wanted man – I can't hide you, I won't risk my children. But I do have a few health potions here," she said, as she had lifted his chin. "Open up, open," she had urged and Anders had complied, allowing her to pour the potion into his mouth. "I saw you crouched here, after them Templars passed, and I was certain it was you," she'd told him. The potion began to take effect; his strength had grown and he slowly stood up.

"Thank you, dear lady," Anders had rasped. "I was injured - almost dead - during the fighting, and this is the first time I've moved since then. I… I cannot keep your other potions, they are too dear, especially now," he told her. "I can heal myself," he finished.

"You healed my third boy four years ago, free of charge," she had said. "He's dearer to me than these potions; we'll get more, Maker willing. Now, I've repaid you for your kindness and you're getting away from here," she urged as she began to leave the alleyway. "I hope they're lying about what you done, mage," she said over her shoulder. "Now get far from here, I won't have you drawing the Guard or them nasty Templar buggers down here – innocent people will end up getting hurt."

"Wait!" he had called to her. "Please, lady, how long has it been since the chantry was destroyed?" he asked.

She had narrowed her eyes at him, and then counted on her hands. "Nine days, it's been nine days. The Circle's gone, Knight-Commander Meredith is dead, and the talk is that you and the Champion are to blame for all of this," she'd said. When he had tried to defend Lorelai, the woman had held up her hand. "Don't bother! I don't count and I don't really care," she'd said quickly. "Now, I done my good deed – get gone!" she'd ordered, and disappeared.

It was still difficult for Anders to fully recall what had occurred during the last few weeks. He realized now that Justice had exerted a great deal more control over him than he had known. Without the spirit occupying his thoughts and feelings, Anders could identify more and more times and events when he didn't have a clear memory of what he had said, or of what he had done.

But comprehending that not all of his choices had been made exclusively by him did not relieve him of his burden of self-loathing, guilt, and anger. It did not change his intense desire to end the abuse of his fellow mages; it did not alter his wish to see his brethren freed from the ignorance and fear of others.

It did not ease the sick aching pit that clenched his belly when his mind's eye recalled the look on his beloved's face, as the chantry had disintegrated into dust.

Now, two days after he had slunk out of Darktown, he found himself at the base of the tunnel that led to the hidden entrance to Lorelai's home, clutching the key to the secret doors that separated her from him in his hand, but his courage continued to fail him.

He paced slowly, planning what he would say to her, trying with each carefully-chosen word to envision a scenario where she wouldn't look at him with heartbreak and horror in her eyes. His mind clamored to craft whatever argument would be needed to convince her that he was no monster. He had known he would lose her to the course of action he had chosen; he had known she was too good to understand why he had made the choices he had. But as he entered and walked the tunnel, as he stared at the door leading to her, his heart was desperate for a different time - a time before he had lied and betrayed her faith in him; a time when she had loved him.

It had been several hours since he had entered the tunnels that had led him to his home with Lorelai, and the watch had called the hour as ten o'clock when he had departed Lowtown. The middle of the night was when Anders had usually arrived after a long day in his clinic, or after clandestine meetings planning the safe passage of escaping apostates, and he knew the house would be silent, and all within well-settled. Bodhan and the other staff would have retired hours ago, and his Lorelai would be tucked into their bed awaiting his return. He wished to the center of his soul that tonight could be no different.

With a stilted sigh he approached the door and quietly inserted the key, rolling the tumblers slowly as the lock released, granting him entrance to the cellar and the dust-covered stairway that led to Lorelai's room.

When she had discovered the tunnel, it had been in an effort to secure the abandoned entrance she and Bethany had used to reclaim their grandfather's will. They had both been delighted to realize that there was a second entrance, one that led out only one hundred yards from where his clinic was located. She had hired a thief she knew to install a set of custom locks on each of the doors to the tunnel, paying him handsomely to install and test them. She had then presented Anders with the one and only key. It was his, she had said, and his alone. He could choose what he wanted to do, she had announced; she never wanted him to feel caged.

He had used it every night since.

Quietly, he climbed the narrow staircase and arrived in the back of the closet that concealed the entrance. Gingerly, he stepped through and opened the gilt-covered door into her main room, stopping short as the moonlight revealed that Lorelai was not in their bed.

_Where is she?_ he wondered frantically as he made his way to the door of the bedroom and crept into the outer hall. Slowly, he made his way to the balcony that overlooked the main hall, and he saw that Sebastian and Fenris were camped out by the fireplace, their weapons not far from them. His heart hammered as he considered that they may just be waiting for him.

He shook his head, resolute to find Lorelai; the rest of Kirkwall be damned, he had to see her.

Crossing the upper hall he saw a flickering glow coming from under Leandra's closed door. His stomach lurched as he realized that Lorelai may have moved from their bedroom to her mother's, and, if so, it would mark the first time Lorelai had entered it since Leandra's magically-animated corpse had been discovered a few years earlier.

He turned the knob and slipped inside, locking the door quietly behind him.

She was there, in her mother's bed, her silky hair splayed across the pillow as she slept on her side. The sheets were tangled and kicked aside, and, as his aching heart drank in the sight of her, she hiccupped softly.

Anders lowered his satchel and shrugged off his coat before crossing the thick carpet to where she slept.

In the flickering firelight, he could see the tearstains on her sloping cheekbone, he could see her swollen lips and the reddened tip of her nose, and he grimaced, knowing she had cried herself to sleep. Watching the shadows dance across her beautiful face, his determination to speak to her died; he would not cause her any more grief. He understood then that his desire to see her had been a selfish one. She thought him dead, had intended for him to be so – he would not take that closure from her.

He turned to go.

"Anders, please," she moaned softly and he whirled around, expecting her clover-green eyes to meet his, only to see that she was still deep in the Fade.

A sob escaped her rosy lips. "Please forgive me," she whimpered.

It was instinct that had him tugging off his robes and boots. He could not deny his need to hold her, to comfort her, any more than he could deny his need to draw breath. How many times had he climbed into their bed in the middle of the night and pulled her into his arms, folded her against his chest? Lying beside her, he drew her to him, and her sleeping form wrapped around him, the tip of her nose against his chin, her palm open against his shoulder, and her leg across his belly.

Her whispered pleas ceased and she settled into sleep.

As he held her, he realized that of everything in the years since his decision to host Justice, the private times with Lorelai - holding her, talking with her, making love to her - were the only memories that held no hint of the spirit. It had just been Anders and Lorelai, and she had loved him.

He had thrown it all away.

A sob burst from him, and she shifted in her sleep. Anders made a desperate effort to control the pain that was gripping his shattered heart. _How could I have done this to her? _his mind cried out in agony. _To us?_

He felt her fingers caress his chin, her thumb graze across his lower lip. "Shhh…" she murmured. "It's alright," she crooned in an almost inaudible mumble. She was still asleep but he gently held her fingers to his lips and kissed them. Her lips moved across the bottom of his chin and her hips shifted slightly against his side.

They had made love like this dozens of times, his activities keeping him away until late. He would stroke and kiss her, tasting her and teasing her until she writhed beneath his touches. Sometimes she never fully woke, but her body did, and he knew she would welcome him.

In an act of desperation his mouth caught her upturned one, and he kissed her with all of the remorse, passion, and heartbreak that coursed through his being.

He tasted her; the sweetness of her undemanding mouth, his fingers running across her delicate jaw line, and into her thick, soft hair. He would memorize every texture, every curve, every sigh and moan of this woman he loved so wholly.

This woman he had tossed away.

He reveled in her shifting body, in her inherent desire for his touch. She sighed softly in pleasure as he ran his hand down her middle, and cupped her breast from underneath. He closed his eyes and felt her nipple harden under his tender touch, relishing the impossibly soft feel of the petal-smooth areola under the firm peak. He cradled her hips, lifting her bottom to press her more fully to his aching need.

Tenderly, she ran feathered touches all over him, her mouth meeting his gentle kisses with her own. He wrapped his arms around her waist and carefully rolled her onto her back, settling between her readily open thighs, but guarding against putting too much weight onto her. For a moment her lush eyelashes fluttered and he anxiously awaited her recognition, full of both hope and dread.

A loving smile drew languidly at her mouth, and he knew then that she thought she was dreaming of him. "I love you, Lorelai," he confessed softly. "I will always love you," he whispered against her lips.

"Always," she answered him, stroking his blond hair as she lifted her hips, her body inviting his to take her.

"You amaze me, love," he whispered, their roaming caresses building the fire within them both. His skin flushed at her grazing fingertips, and he was completely lost in the sensations of her arousal and of her love for him.

As she succumbed to his skillful touch, he finally sank into her, their bodies needing no guidance in their rhythm. Their pace was slow and deliberate, and Anders worshipped her with each thrust, reveling in her uninhibited response. They found their completion together, but he did not leave her, choosing instead to cherish their final moments for as long as he could.

In the peace and openness of the safety in her arms, he felt her steady breath, and knew he needed to go. He closed his eyes and pulled the Fade open, intending to offer her a dreamless sleep - a night of peace after their last coupling - when he felt another presence. His years as a healer told him instantly what he was feeling.

"Oh love," he whispered as what precious few remaining pieces of his world disintegrated. Quickly, he cast a mild sleep over Lorelai, and shut away the Fade. Sitting up, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and clasped his hands behind his neck. "Oh, my love," he sobbed.

Anders rocked himself as he cried for them, for his malignant destruction of their new family; for his innocent child who would be branded a revolutionist apostate's bastard. He wept, knowing he had surrendered his ability to protect his baby from the worst cruelties the world would dispense because of his decision to declare war on the Chantry. It would never be safe from threat; it would never cease to be hunted, simply because of its father.

More than anything, he wanted to whisk them all away; he wanted to beg Lorelai to forgive him and to love him once more. The image of their unborn child began to form in his mind, and he wished, for the first time in his life, to be free of his magic – to just be a man.

But, as he looked back at Lorelai, her sweet face relaxed in sleep, he knew that the last thing that either she or their child needed was _him_.

He was a runaway Grey Warden, an apostate, and, in the eyes of most of Thedas, a murderer. Assuming that Lorelai would even allow him near her again, he couldn't protect them, couldn't offer them the stability they would need – he could only offer the undignified life of dodging Templars and hiding who they were.

No, what he should do is get dressed and leave, just as he had planned. He should go from here, from her, and never look back, never again add to her burdens. He had done enough.

He finally forced his body to move, and, with the weight in his heart ten times greater than when he had entered the home, he re-dressed. Again he turned to watch her, and again he was unable to resist touching her one last time.

Kissing her cheek slowly, he inhaled the scent of her hair and skin, committing it to memory. He rose and reached into his pocket, and soundlessly placed his key on the bedside table.

"Good-bye my love, my life," he whispered to her. "I love you both too much to stay," he explained and turned, leaving his family behind.

A few silent minutes later, as Anders patted their hound's head in farewell, the mage slipped out by the side servants' entrance, and was gone.

_**Thank you, Lisa, I'm very, very, grateful for your continued willingness to beta my ramblings.**_

_**I would like to offer my sincere gratitude to each of you who read, favorited, alerted, and reviewed this new project of mine. I am overwhelmed by everyone's generous comments, and genuinely hope that this tale continues to please!**_


	3. One Foot Forward

**One Foot Forward**

Sebastian opened his eyes as the first light of day colored the thin clouds drifting outside the windows of the main hall. He was stiff from his night spent on the stone floor, but as both he and Fenris had insisted upon staying the night - their concerns regarding the safety of Lorelai and her staff amplified by a small group of drunken men crowding by the front of the estate - he hardly felt he could complain. Despite Bodhan's insistence, he had flatly refused to be housed on the same floor as Lorelai. She was an unmarried woman, and he a gentleman; he wanted no hint of impropriety regarding their relationship.

Thinking of their relationship, he observed that for the most part it had always been a very good one, though full of mixed emotions on his side.

She had accepted his charge from the Chanter's Board so many years ago, and had effectively and seamlessly completed his request. Rather than vie for extra pay, or brag of her feats in the local tavern, she had humbly brought him the news of the demise of Flint Company and her condolences for his loss, seeking nothing more for herself. Her friendship was given freely - no strings attached - and she had never asked him for anything more in return; a rarity in a prince's life.

If he were honest with himself, he knew his complicated feelings for Lorelai were part of what had impeded his ability to come to a firm decision about his own future. She was kind, beautiful, and honorable, and only a dead man would have been able to ignore her draw.

He had confessed all of this to Elthina once: his struggle with who he should be and what role Hawke played in his conflicted life. He was more shocked than he cared to admit by the holy lady's gentle and knowing smile as his words had tumbled out. He thought he'd kept his carefully-quashed feelings regarding Lorelai under tighter wraps - that the Grand Cleric would be scandalized by his admission – but Elthina's calm reaction told him otherwise. He had scrambled then, pushing himself to commit wholly to the Chantry.

A week later, the Grand Cleric had refused his ardent request that he be allowed to complete his vows to the Maker, the elder woman taking the bold step of enlisting Lorelai's aid in her argument against honoring Sebastian's rash decision.

Put on the spot, he had been forced to speak with Lorelai of his desire to serve the Maker, which, once past his embarrassment, had turned out to be surprisingly easy to do. It had felt natural, to share his worries with her, and she had listened attentively and with great compassion.

"Sebastian," Lorelai had said to him after he finished explaining his confliction. "I keep coming back to something you said earlier, about your grandfather – do you recall?" she had asked.

"I've told you many things about him," he had answered, unsure of her change in topic.

"You said he was a devout man, that he believed the Maker knew each of us and had a plan for all, didn't you?" she queried, and he had nodded. "Presuming your grandfather was correct, it's worth remembering that the Maker knew of Lady Harimann's desires and jealousies; that he knew of her potential to succumb to them."

"Lorelai," Sebastian had answered, shaking his head. "I am afraid I don't follow you. What difference…"

"You said earlier, that before your parents gave you to the Chantry, when you were the most envious of your brother's position, _that_ was when you would have made a horrible ruler – even though you desired it so greatly," she said carefully. "You feel that being here," she continued, gesturing around her to the chantry. "And serving humbly, without status, has made you a man, and now you have the capacity to be - what did you call it? - oh, 'an adequate ruler,'" she had finished with a small smile.

"Hawke…" he had begun, only to pause as she laid her small hand on his sleeve.

"So, is it truly unreasonable then to think that the Maker _intended_ for you to face these trials?" she suggested meaningfully. "Perhaps His goal was to enable you to become a strong and moral man, one capable of protecting and governing the people of Starkhaven – one wholly committed to _His _plan."

Her words had sent a jolt through him, and for the first time since his family's murder, Sebastian could see some possible sense in why his life had taken the difficult turn it had. Her direct but thoughtful words had flipped his arguments on their ear, and he had hurriedly ended their conversation.

Later, as he replayed their discussion in his mind, he found he could no longer pretend that an integral part of his indecisiveness - what wise Elthina had seen, but he had chosen to ignore - was his feelings for Lorelai. In the quiet of his spartan room, he finally admitted to himself that had she even _hinted_ he would be welcomed romantically in her life, he would have taken her to him and would never have looked back.

Now, Sebastian found he was in an odd predicament; his heart and his mind were in harmony, but he loathed the happenstance. Of the times he had dared imagined Lorelai as his, the fantasies had never included her heart being broken and her womb filled with another man's child. But he could not escape the certainty of what should be done; he knew this new course of action was set before him by the Maker, and he would not turn away from it.

Rolling over, he closed his eyes and sighed.

There were many reasonable and logical points to his decision, each of which he had carefully memorized for when he could finally speak to Lorelai about it.

He would be thirty in four months' time; Lorelai was almost twenty-seven. As the sole heir to Starkhaven he would need a wife who could bear him several heirs, and Lorelai's pregnancy proved she could conceive. Regardless of recent events, she was a daughter of the House of Amell, a family whose lineage was nearly as old as his own.

Beyond that, she was an intelligent woman, a savvy political strategist, and her observant mind and inviting demeanor would be of great aid to his cause. Arriving in Starkhaven to claim his place as ruler, married to a respected and well-bred woman who already carried a potential heir would make him appear stable and settled – a far cry from the playboy reputation he had earned during the many exploits of his youth.

Most importantly, though, marrying her offered a kind of protection to Lorelai and the child that no other man could; for if any moved against Lorelai, they would be moving against Starkhaven. Personal vendettas faded when potential aggressors realized they would be facing the might of the army of his city-state – and Maker knew that Sebastian would do just that to safeguard them.

_Them? Maker help her,_ he thought. He felt strongly that given normal circumstances, Lorelai would make a loving and good mother; but this situation was beyond normal.

He knew he had been expected to disapprove of Lorelai living so openly with a man outside of the vows of marriage, but knowing and respecting her as he did, he had understood it.

A mage could not marry, and if she _had_ been able to marry Anders, such a union would have drawn a great deal of formal attention to him; his identification as an apostate would become fact and no longer just suspicion.

Politically, those with power in Kirkwall had chosen to ignore the poorly-held secret that Lorelai Hawke was involved with a suspected apostate because they needed her. She was the Champion of Kirkwall, known to all, and her opinion carried a great deal of weight. She had proven herself willing to aid with both the concerns of the chantry and those of the Viscount, while showing herself to be an ally to most nobles. Openly acknowledging that she was the lover of an active revolutionist and suspected apostate would have negatively affected too many other important happenings within the city-state.

She was needed, and he came with the package.

Lorelai had been a strong influence for good in Kirkwall, and, while she was sympathetic to the plight of mages, Sebastian had seen her disagree with Anders from time to time. She knew her own mind, and while Sebastian did not agree with her choice in a partner, he truly believed that she had chosen to make the best of an otherwise impossible situation.

Now, none of that mattered, and the only thing he wanted was to keep her safe.

With great discipline, Sebastian cleared his mind, refusing to allow his own hopes for their theoretical future together cloud his better judgment. He knew it would take time and patience, but he dared to hope that someday she would come to love him, or, at the very least, let him love her.

Regardless, life had long since taught him that what he desired and what he accomplished could sometimes be two very different things, and Lorelai did not need another partner who was ruled by personal motivations.

He stretched, and, throwing aside his blanket, sat up, rubbing his face roughly before running his fingers through his hair, hoping he had made it somewhat presentable. Looking to his side, he noted that Fenris was still asleep, and, before his rumbling stomach woke the elf, he left the main hall for the servants' corridor and quietly entered the kitchen.

He heard a soft 'woof' and smiled as Lorelai's hound, Jasper, nudged his thigh for a 'good morning' pat. After offering his greeting to the intelligent beast, Sebastian began to search the kitchen for the necessary items to make a pot of tea. During his search he located several links of beef sausage and a loaf of sweetbread. Placing the items on the sideboard, he opened the servants' door out to the miniscule yard off the side entrance, retrieving several pieces of wood from the neatly stacked cords.

It wasn't until after he had returned to the kitchen and lit the fire that he realized he hadn't needed to unlock the door to complete his task.

"Good Morning, Your Highness!" called Bodhan from behind him as the dwarf entered the kitchen. "I hope that you rested well? I do so wish you had allowed me to set you up somewhere more comfortable," the head of staff commented. "Oh! And here, you not only stayed in discomfort to look after us last night, but are up before all, and have the stove lit for the day's use!" Bodhan praised, as he stepped up to the stove and opened the door, stoking the growing fire within.

Sebastian felt his stomach knot. "So I am the first to wake?" he asked slowly. "Neither Orana or Sandal have been about?"

Bodhan shook his head. "No, Sandal was starting to dress when I bade him good morning, and Orana's door was firmly shut still," he answered. "You know, she's funny about having a door, of all things," the dwarf rambled on with a chuckle. "For the longest time…"

Sebastian stopped listening to Bodhan as he returned to the side door, staring at it. Stepping outside, he looked carefully at the soft dirt path that led away from the home, and felt certain that there were new boot prints there. He hurried back inside.

Bodhan was still telling his story about Orana as if Sebastian had never left. "So, I said to her, Orana, love, you are allowed to shut it when you want to! Don't need to check with me each time..."

Turning back, Sebastian looked out of the still-open door, his eyes focusing on one boot print that was more pronounced than the others as the dwarf prattled on behind him.

"Fenris!" the rogue bellowed.

**xXx**

Lorelai opened her eyes slowly, the silken sheets snuggling warmly against her skin. She could hear movement in the house and voices too; she recognized Sebastian's gentle brogue. Aveline had told her that both he and Fenris had elected to stay over, and once her friend had explained their concerns over people's anger, she had been grateful for their willingness to do so.

With a soft sigh, she turned her head and gazed through the doors which led to the veranda. The morning sun had just begun to shine, the sky still glowing with the hues of pink from the sunrise.

She had dreamed of Anders again, but today her heart didn't ache as greatly as before.

Last night had been different from her previous dreams since his death. This dream was not filled with the images of the chantry collapsing, or of Anders' face flashing blue when Justice had surged outward against her and their friends. It had not been about the feel of his body on her blade, or of his whispered words of gratitude as she lowered him to the ground. No, last night's dream had been one of love, and somehow, good-bye.

She shifted her body, the sheets tangled around her legs and she pushed up, lifting herself higher onto the mound of pillows her mother had always insisted upon. It had been comforting to sleep in her mother's bed, and she was glad that she hadn't allowed Bodhan and Sandal to break down the room years ago. A part of her still needed her mother, especially now.

She rolled over and smiled, spying the vase of flowers left by Merrill, the blooms clearly taken from the Viscount's garden. Her smile fell away as she spied something else on her nightstand - the key to the tunnel doors.

Her hand shot out and snatched it up, the metal cool against her palm as she scrambled to sit up fully. In disbelief she stared at the key in her hand, and her dream once again flashed through her mind. Each passionate touch, each whispered word from his beautiful lips came rushing back, and she knew – _knew_ – that Anders had come to her last night. The evidence of their lovemaking lay in her hand; the rumpled bed and the subtle rawness of the soft skin on her chin and neck, caused by his coarse stubble, only verified what she knew was the truth.

It had not been a dream.

In a hurried motion she pressed herself into the bed, her heart hoping to feel something of him, and she closed her eyes and caressed the pillows she knew he had lain upon.

It was madness, she knew, to feel this jolt of joy run through her. He had lied to her, and he had committed murder upon untold numbers of innocent people. She believed she had ended his life for his crimes; but in this unguarded moment, nothing her mind told her mattered. The images of the night played through, and she understood he had chosen to not stay; that he had come to say good-bye.

She would never see him again.

The warring thoughts and emotions of the ramifications that he yet lived were more than she could digest. He was still a monster, still a murderer and a liar – but he had loved her in the best way he could, and for now, she would treasure that knowledge.

Tenderly, she caressed the bed sheets and pressed her face into his pillow, wishing one final time it was his chest her cheek rested against, his arms wrapped around her, rather than the soft sheets. But it wasn't, and it would never be again.

He had made his choice long ago, and now, it was time for her to face it.

**xXx**

Fenris crouched low, running his fingers over the outline of the single boot print that remained from whoever had been within the Hawke estate. Scowling, the warrior rose with his typical lithe grace and turned back to Sebastian, who stood a few feet away, wearing his own sour look.

"I agree, Sebastian," Fenris said, his frown deepening. "It was not here last night; clearly someone was in the home."

Sebastian nodded. "From the looks of it," he began, "I'd say it was a human male's boot, based on the size and the weight it took to make the impression," he speculated. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to stave off his anxiety. "I never heard a thing," he said harshly.

"Have you verified that Lorelai is still here?" Fenris asked the Prince, whose eyes widened in panic at the elf's suggestion.

Fenris grunted and strode past Sebastian to re-enter the kitchen, the archer hastening his pace to keep up. Orana was just entering the kitchen, having recently come down from her room, and Sandal was sitting at the servants' table, happily gobbling up the now-cooked sausages that Sebastian had started earlier.

"Orana," Fenris said sharply, making the slightly-built woman jump. He was immediately contrite – he was always exceedingly deliberate when speaking to the former slave. "Forgive me, Orana, for my tone," he said in apology, and Orana bobbed her head in understanding. "Is your mistress here? Have you served her this morning?"

Orana nodded quickly. "Yes, ser," she answered softly. "I saw that my lady was awake and had already risen from her bed. She is dressing, and asked me to just bring up a tea tray, after I eat," she finished, her eyes moving back and forth between the two men nervously. "Have I done something wrong, ser?"

"No, Orana," Sebastian answered quickly. "You take good care of your mistress, and I know she values you greatly; pay us no mind," he said. Orana smiled and went to sit beside Sandal.

With an unspoken understanding, Fenris and Sebastian split up and methodically searched the home, checking each door and window carefully before returning to the main hall a few minutes later. Each man was frustrated, having found no clues as to who had been in the house, or how they had entered, undetected, the night before.

"This is unacceptable, Sebastian," Fenris said sharply. "We were right _here_, how could someone have just slipped by?"

Sebastian paced for a moment, deep in thought, and then stopped abruptly. "Tunnels, there are tunnels here!" he exclaimed. "I remember Lorelai telling me about her and Bethany's search for their grandfather Amell's will – it's entirely feasible to think that there are other entrances as well," he remarked thoughtfully, and then narrowed his eyes. "I want her out of this house, Fenris! Hooligans, drunks, angry locals…by the Maker, how can we protect her if someone knows of another way in?" he growled.

"I agree," Fenris replied.

Sebastian sighed. "Let us talk with Bodhan about the layout of the house," he suggested.

"You do so," Fenris answered. "I am going to search the cellars."

**xXx**

Lorelai had opened the door to her mother's room - intending to take breakfast in the kitchen - in time to hear Sebastian and Fenris' discussion. She had hung back, listening to their conversation, but she just couldn't bring herself to relieve them of their worries about their 'intruder'; to confess to them that Anders was not dead.

Closing her eyes tightly, she listened to Sebastian's frustration, heard Fenris' anger, and vowed to not hide Anders' visit from her friends for very long; they deserved to know the truth, they were as equally affected by it as she. But not yet, not now – now she was still reeling from his visit.

She hastened to close the door of the bedroom, retreating to the familiar safety of her mother's room. She had been so determined to brave the day, to no longer hide in the sanctuary of this room, but knowing that the rest of the house was aware that someone had been in the home last night, and that she would only be forced to explain _who_, sent her back inside, stripped of her courage.

She knew she needed to begin to plan. She understood that her situation in Kirkwall was dire - Aveline had made certain Lorelai comprehended that fully before she had left last night – yet for the first time in her life, Lorelai had no idea of what to do.

She sat heavily onto the small stuffed stool before the vanity and stared at herself in the mirror, only to see that she looked as lifeless and limp as she felt.

In the short hour since she had awoken to see his key on her nightstand, her feelings had manifested in many different ways. Joy had made way for determined resolve, but one question kept gnawing at her, and resolve soon surrendered its place to anger.

_Why had he not woken her?_

Her heart wanted to trust what she had felt, but no matter how she viewed it, the choice he made last night - to take from her, to use her, and then simply leave the key rather than to rouse her - to _not_ allow her to know he was there, felt like cowardice. His actions seemed to reinforce what his first betrayal had hinted at - that he considered her needs less than his own.

His visit last night, seemingly so loving when she first awoke, now felt more like betrayal, and it was almost more than she could bear; had it not been for her wish to ease her friend's worries over her, she would have been swallowed whole by the weight of his actions once more.

There was such conflict in her heart, and the only person who could help her, the one single man who she should have been able to count on, was the source of all of it.

Her hand rested limply in her lap, and slowly she ran it across her flat stomach.

Their child was in there, growing, and changing, and she hated it as much as she loved it. It was only through a pathetic need to believe that this child would be made of the best of him - of the kind, loving and brave man she loved – that had kept her from taking the horrifying step that logic begged her to.

"What will we do?" she whispered softly to her child, and then jumped as a knock sounded on her door.

Orana breezed in, her slipper-clad feet padding softly across the thick carpet as she carried in Lorelai's morning tray of tea. Quickly forcing aside her dreary thoughts, she greeted Orana as warmly as she could muster.

"Good morning, Orana," she began. "I hope you are well today?" she inquired politely.

"Good morning, mistress," Orana replied happily. "I am well, thank you for asking. I have your tray here," she said as walked past and placed it on the small veranda table. "I know that you have been upset lately, missing the master so," she explained as she began to pour the tea, "so I have brought you some fresh berries and a hot scone with your tea to cheer you up. Come," she continued, beckoning Lorelai outside, "it's looking to be a beautiful day, and you should see how many of your mother's irises bloomed this morning!"

It was at Orana's simple request, with her excited happiness at the development of a few blooming flowers, that Lorelai was startled by a sudden understanding of what she _could_ do while she figured out _what_ to do; she could move forward, a little each day – direction would find itself later.

_Is that all there is to it, then? Just…go? _

She remembered having a similar conversation with Fenris, a few years ago. Her advice, when he had asked her how one started over, had been to do just that.

Lorelai smiled softly at the unintended strength the words of the woman who looked after them with such care gave her; her spirit flickering to life for the first time since the ground had trembled with the strength of Anders' convictions, and stood up from her mother's stool, determined to join Orana outside.

_**Thank you Lisa! I am forever in your debt….seriously; my stuff is a pile of misplaced semi-colons and hyphens without you!**_

_**I would like to say a very humble thank you to each and every one of you for the extraordinary response to this story. I cannot begin to say how honored and excited I am to get each alert, review, favorite and your PM's. I am exceedingly grateful.**_


	4. Simple Motion

**Simple Motions**

Sebastian and Fenris had parted ways in the main hall, each determined to root out the access point that their uninvited guest had used the previous night.

Sebastian had spoken with Bodhan, who'd had no relevant information to impart to their quest until Sebastian had asked where the entrance to the cellars was, determined to aid Fenris in his search.

"You know, Your Highness," Bodhan had said slowly, tugging on a braid in his beard. "There were times when my master would seem to just 'appear', if you get my meaning," he said.

"No, Bodhan, I'm afraid I don't," Sebastian had replied with a shake of his head.

"'Course not, my apologies," replied the dwarf. "What I mean to say is, that I tend to remain close to the front of the estate, during the day – so I can conduct my mistress' business, greet guests, receive the courier," Bodhan continued. "So I am usually aware of who comes and goes, do you understand?"

"Yes," Sebastian said, hoping his annoyance was not reflected in his tone.

"There were many times when I found myself rather startled to learn the master was here," Bodhan said. "I never wondered about it, as I assumed he came in through the servants' entrance, but I asked Orana about it once and she said that no, he came through the closet," he elaborated. "I figured the girl was confused, she does get strange notions, you know, but perhaps there was more to it than I'd thought," he finished.

"The _closet_? She said Anders came in through the closet?" Sebastian asked in surprise, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Where is Orana now?" asked a steely voice from behind them. Sebastian looked over his shoulder to see Fenris standing behind them at the end of the service hall.

"I expect she is still with my mistress," Bodhan replied, before he was forced to quickly step aside, making room as Sebastian and Fenris swept past him.

The two men reached the top of the staircase just as Orana opened the exterior door of Leandra's suite. The lithe elf stepped silently into the hall, balancing a food tray against her hip with skill as she closed the door behind her. She was humming quietly to herself, and, taking the tray in both hands, turned to return to the kitchens on the main level.

"Oh!" she gasped, startled by the unannounced pair. "Forgive me, I did not see you," she said quickly.

Fenris stepped back, giving the nervous girl a wide berth. "We apologize; it was not our intention to frighten you. May we speak with you?" he asked in a low voice.

Orana's gaze darted back and forth between Fenris and Sebastian. "Yes, of course," she answered.

"May I?" Sebastian asked, gesturing to take the tray from her.

"Oh, Maker, no ser," she replied quickly, turning at her waist so that the tray was out of his reach.

"Then may we walk with you down to the kitchens?" the Prince asked.

She nodded and then passed them, leaving the companions to follow in her wake.

"Orana, Bodhan mentioned you had once told him that Anders came into the house through the closet," Fenris began as the three walked up the servants' hallway.

"He did," Orana confirmed and then turned to enter the kitchen. She approached the washing table, and began disassembling the tray, organizing its dirty plates from the silverware.

"Could you explain to us what you meant?" Fenris queried.

"The closet in the mistress' bedroom," she said, matter-of-factly. "There's a door there."

Fenris growled.

"He comes _through_ the closet?" Sebastian repeated.

Orana nodded and smiled sweetly, picking up Lorelai's dishes and placing them in the wooden tub of sudsy water.

Sebastian turned around to see that Fenris had already left the kitchen.

He found the elf in Lorelai's bedroom, the various doors off the main room thrown wide open. One led to a dressing room, another to a bathing room, and a further one opened to a shallow closet that was mostly empty, save a few trunks. Fenris was inside, running his hands along the dusty walls.

"Fenris," Sebastian said from behind him, his wide shoulders filling most of the doorframe.

"You're blocking my light, human," Fenris said in a venomous tone.

"Fenris," Sebastian continued, his own tone becoming harder. "We should speak with Lorelai; it's not right for us to be going through her things."

"Then you speak with her, _I_ am finding the entrance," Fenris snapped back.

"You don't know if there is an entrance to find," Sebastian replied. "We need to respect Lorelai's privacy, Fenris!"

The elf spun around, his eyes narrowed. "_Respect her privacy_?" he snarled. "Look where respecting her _privacy_ has gotten her! You feel free to continue with your respect – I intend to keep her safe!" he barked and then turned his back on the rogue, resuming his inspection of the closet wall.

"You go too far, elf!" Sebastian bellowed back. "No one wants her safe more than I! You've no idea what…" but his angry rebuttal was interrupted by a loud 'click'.

"Ah," Fenris said smugly. The warrior looked over his shoulder at Sebastian. "Shall we discover where this leads?" he asked, their rancorous conversation forgotten.

Sebastian grunted his agreement.

Twenty minutes later, they reached the end of the tunnel, only to find a heavy, reinforced door blocking their exit. Sebastian attempted to pick the lock, but it proved beyond his abilities.

"We could just break it down," Fenris suggested.

"We could," Sebastian agreed in an uncertain tone. "But as we don't know what's on the other side…we cannot predict what we may be exposing the estate to. What if it opens directly into Lowtown?" he considered.

Fenris' eyes narrowed. "Excellent point," he agreed. "I would speculate that we should be below Lowtown at this point," he continued, "we took several steep flights of steps down," he pointed out.

"Darktown, then?" Sebastian offered.

"It would explain the abomination's use of this tunnel, would it not?" Fenris replied. His eyes narrowed in focus and Sebastian watched as the elf's lyrium burns glowed brightly. Crouching low, Fenris touched a single finger to the bottom corner of the door, and slowly pushed it through; pulling his finger back, he rose back to his feet and his etchings returned to their normal state.

He had left a small hole in the door, marking it for his identification.

"Not bad, Fenris," Sebastian said in admiration.

"Let us return to the house," Fenris said. "I will leave for Darktown. I have an idea of where this door may let out," he stated.

"Right, and seeing the hole will confirm you've found the right one," Sebastian agreed. "I will go and speak with Lorelai. She needs to know what has been happening, and what we've been up to," he continued, frowning at the scowl on the elf's face. "Fenris, we have nothing to hide."

"No," Fenris agreed. "But it is possible that Lorelai _does_."

**xXx**

Sebastian hadn't immediately sought out Lorelai, as he had said he would. Instead, after Fenris had left the estate, he had spoken to Bodhan, to let the dwarf know he would be leaving for a few hours.

He had walked to Lowtown - to The Hanged Man to be exact - where he'd sought out his friend Varric.

He'd found Varric spinning tales by the bar of the large, open tap room, and, with a nod from Sebastian, the dwarf had wrapped up his story quickly. They'd made their way to a large, comfortable back room, in which Varric conducted all of his business, and a great deal of drinking.

"Choir boy, how fares our lovely Lorelai?" Varric asked as he entered the room. He placed a tankard full of frothy ale before Sebastian and gestured for the Prince to take a seat. "I'm assuming that nothing went bump in the night?"

"Actually, it seems that it did," Sebastian stated. "Have no worries, though, Varric; I think that Fenris and I have it worked out. It seems there may have been an unsecured tunnel into the estate."

"Shit," Varric hissed. "Maker's balls, what the hell happened?" he asked.

"Nothing, that we know of," Sebastian answered. "Although I haven't spoken to Lorelai about it yet, we found some evidence that a man had been in the house. But that's not why I'm here," he said, pausing for a moment to drink a long draw from his tankard. "I want to hire you, Varric."

"Oh? Gee, I thought we were friends," Varric countered with a frown. "What the hell would you need to _hire_ me for?" he asked.

"I'm going to take Lorelai with me to Starkhaven," the Prince stated.

"And what, you need help with moving that ugly statue over her fireplace?" Varric quipped.

"No, I want to hire your network," Sebastian replied. "I intend to marry Lorelai and to take the child as my heir. No one would dare strike back at her for Anders' deeds if she is a Vael," he explained. "But I cannot ignore that she is suspected by most to be that bastard's accomplice. For this to work then we must begin to…"

"Control the story. I got it," Varric interrupted. "Does Lorelai know she's going to marry you?"

"Not as yet," Sebastian said sheepishly. "I wanted to make preparations first, and, to be honest, I don't expect her to simply say 'yes'. She's going to fight the logic of this, and I want to be able to counter her arguments," he stated.

"I always suspected you had it bad for her, choir boy," Varric said with a chuckle. "I just didn't realize it was bad enough to take her _and_ her little bundle of possessed joy on. You sure you want to do this?"

"I am more certain of this than of anything I have ever done in my entire life, Varric," Sebastian said vehemently. "I need society to believe the child is mine. The nobles of Starkhaven must have nothing to counter this child's claims; there must be a solid story and timeline established."

Varric nodded. "I agree, but what's the story? She took up with you?"

"Nothing so unsavory, Varric," Sebastian argued. "No, I will marry her as soon as I can convince her, and by that I mean within the next few days."

Varric grunted. "Merrill said the midwife believed the baby was only a few weeks along. Assuming we can establish that she ended things with Anders well before his attack…well, it would be a decent start," the dwarf agreed. "A romantic spin on it may help it to run, you know. Like she could no longer deny her feelings for you?" he suggested.

Sebastian shifted in his seat. "I do not wish to spread anything that may bring Lorelai's integrity into question, Varric," he said. Varric began to speak but Sebastian raised his hand, halting the dwarf's words.

"I am not so ignorant of politics to think that I will not be combating whisperings about Lorelai," Sebastian stated. "It's inevitable, and exacerbating the rumors would be a sound tactical maneuver by those who would rather not see me return to rule my lands," he continued. "It would be beneficial to my position, and to our marriage, if our new version of events weakens their possible attacks on her virtue. Is it known that it was Lorelai who killed Anders?" he inquired.

"I've been doing my best to see that fact go far and wide," Varric said. "The problem is, most folks are thinking she did it to cover her ass, to make it look like she didn't have anything to do with his plans."

"She didn't."

"Yeah, well, the truth is usually the _last_ thing people want to talk about," Varric pointed out. "Listen, I see what you want to do; let me work it out. But I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't point something out," he said, folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop. "No matter what we spin, there will always be people who will swear she helped Anders kill the Grand Cleric. It hasn't been long enough for us to know yet, but it's possible that the Chantry may come after her."

Sebastian's nostrils flared. "I have considered this, Varric. The Divine and Elthina were friends," he explained. "I loved Elthina as a mother, and would never protect her murderer. There are no questions about my service when I was a brother. I'm praying that will count for something."

"Let's just pray the Divine doesn't wipe Kirkwall off the damned map," Varric countered. "If she doesn't invade outright, then there may be hope that she won't come after Lorelai," he said hopefully. Sebastian blanched. "Look, I'll send a note, let you know what I cook up before I get to work, alright?" he offered. "Where should I send it?"

"Send it to Lorelai's," Sebastian said. "I will be staying there until I can make ready for us to depart for Starkhaven." He then stood up and offered his hand to Varric.

"You've got your work cut out for you, but if you can convince her to go with you, I know you'll look out for her," said Varric as he rose and shook his friend's hand. "You're a good guy, Seb," he commented. "People like you – who would go through all of this for a friend – are few and far between," he noted as he walked around the table.

Sebastian turned and stared into the fireplace. "I believe you've observed that I see Lorelai as more than a _friend_," he said without looking away from the flames. "There is very little I would deny her," he said softly, then cleared his throat. "You will do this for me, Varric? Can you pave the way for my plan?"

"Consider it done, choir boy."

**xXx**

It's a simple thing to do, knocking on a door. One raises one's arm, bends one's elbow, and then curl's ones knuckles, making sharp contact with the wood.

Rap, rap, rap. Simple motions, nothing very complicated about it.

Unless everything one hopes for is on the other side of the door; then, it's not so simple after all.

Sebastian stood at Leandra's bedroom door, his palms sweating, and his heart thudding slowly against his chest.

He had rehearsed his arguments – again - on his walk back to Hightown from The Hanged Man. Those arguments had not deviated greatly from the ones he had formulated during last night's time on Lorelai's hard stone floor, and he was confident he could produce a sound case for their marriage. Considering this, his nervous state was annoying him greatly, and he gave himself a mental shake.

He had never been a coward; indeed he had faced things that would have brought lesser men to their knees.

He blew out a steadying breath.

Rap, rap, rap.

"Come in!" Lorelai called out, and he nervously wiped his palm against his greaves before grasping the doorknob and turning it.

Lorelai met him in the outer room of the main part of the suite. She was dressed in a simple gown, a dress of fine lawn that was in a soft shade of red. Her hair was loose; he'd never seen it completely down before, and could not help admiring it. The ends spiraled together as it tumbled down to her waist – it was beautiful.

"Oh, Sebastian," she said softly. "I'm glad you returned. I didn't get to thank you for your kindness; I'm sure you were terribly uncomfortable," she began. "Orana just brought up tea and biscuits, would you like to join me?" she offered.

"I would like that very much," he replied, following her out onto the veranda. "You seem to be feeling much better today, Lorelai, for which I am most grateful."

She turned away to look down at the garden below, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. "Yes, well, there really wasn't another direction to go, was there?" she quipped.

He sighed and shook his head. "No, I suppose not," he said honestly.

She drew in a deep breath. "Thank you for coming yesterday," she began quietly. "I can't explain why I fell apart so completely," she said pathetically. "I, well, I guess I just kept hoping that none of this is real. Does that make any sense?" she asked, but did not wait for his answer. "I realized I was…" she hesitated, "I realized I was pregnant, and I just, well, I just wanted to give up…so I did. But that cannot continue, can it?"

Sebastian didn't know what to say to her, and so remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian," she whispered. "I'm so sorry about Elthina. I know how much you loved her," she said, her voice shaking. "I know what that means, to lose your mother to murder; and I swear to you if I had known what...what…" but the rest of her words would not come.

"Thank you, Lorelai," he said gently. "I do not believe you had anything to do with her death or any of the deaths he caused that day. You need to trust that, to trust me."

She brushed a tear away with her fingertips and finally turned to look at him.

"I do not like seeing your tears," he said spontaneously and then mentally chastised himself. "Lorelai, forgive me my bluntness but we must talk. A great deal has happened since you left us on the docks," he said in a clear voice.

She turned to the small table on the veranda and began to pour their tea.

"Someone was in the house last night," he began, and noticed her hands still for a moment before she resumed pouring the tea. "We searched the home, but could not discern how they could have entered without our knowledge. Orana mentioned something, leading Fenris and I to find the entrance to a tunnel," he continued. "Do you know of what I speak? It led far beneath the house and we reached a door even I could not unlock," he explained, taking the offered saucer and tea cup.

Lorelai's eyes did not meet his for several moments. "It lets out into Darktown," she said in a near whisper. "Right by Anders' clinic: he used it to return home each night," she explained.

Her answer matched what he had already formulated in his mind. "Is it secure?" he asked.

She nodded. "It should be, the lock is quite unique," she commented. "It's been four years since I had it installed, and we never had any intruders. It's sound," she finished.

They sat quietly for several minutes, Sebastian gathering his courage, and Lorelai lost in thought.

"Lorelai," he began, ending their silence. "Do you want to have this baby?" he asked pointedly.

She closed her eyes, and shook her head. "No, but I will not kill it," she answered in a strangled voice. "I have prayed and prayed to Andraste that I may miscarry," she confessed. "But I have already done so much harm, I cannot do more," she said, her hands covering her face.

"Do you recall that day in the chantry? The day that Elthina refused to accept my vows as a brother?" he asked. She wiped tears away, looking at him with questioning eyes, but she nodded. "You challenged me mightily that day; you've no idea how much. Our conversation opened my eyes, but we never had a chance to talk about it again," he continued. "Your words were like a jolt running through me, and I realized, after much prayer and reflection, that both you and my grandfather were right."

"So you will return to Starkhaven?" she asked.

"I will, but that's not what I'm getting at," he explained. "We cannot know what our trials prepare us for, Lorelai, only that the trials _make_ us prepared. I do not understand the Maker's purpose in what has transpired, in what Anders did, but for some reason He has chosen to give you a child."

"Sebastian, you know I have faith in the Maker, in the teachings," she began, "but do you truly think the Maker intended me to become pregnant with Anders' child? Do you even want to _know_ the things that have run through my mind?" she said, her voice turning harsh. "Is this even a baby? Look at what Anders was, what he did, consider the number of lies he told me, the elaborate deceptions – he tricked me and I realize now that I may never know what else I was fooled about."

"Lorelai," Sebastian said, but she shook her head.

"No!" she snapped. "He was a Grey Warden, did you know that? He said he was tainted, but wouldn't explain anything more about it, other than it would shorten his life, and that it made having a… having a child impossible," she continued. "Yet after all these years, I fall pregnant now? A child that should not exist – how do I know he didn't…" she screwed her eyes shut and rushed out her last words. "How do I know he didn't do something, something to _make_ this happen?"

Sebastian felt fear grip his heart and he came to his feet and began to pace. "I asked Merrill and she said she sensed no magic affecting you," he countered after a few minutes, his mind latching onto the memory like a life line. "She's a blood mage, you know she has a strong connection with the darkest of energies," he stated, his voice reflecting a confidence he did not feel.

She leaned forward in her chair and rested her head in her hands.

"Lorelai," he said softly, coming to her side. "Regardless of how this babe came to be, you have chosen to carry it. But you are in grave danger here in Kirkwall," he reminded her. "Many people believe you aided Anders in his deeds, and I know Aveline shared with you the various threats that have been made against you," he reminded her. "No matter what becomes of this pregnancy, you cannot stay here."

"And just where shall I go? Bethany is on the run, and I've lost all of my family, unless you count my uncle, which I assure you, I don't. There isn't anyone I can go to in Ferelden," she said. "Kirkwall is home," she said firmly.

"Not anymore, Lorelai," he countered. "Kirkwall is not safe for you, and it will only get worse once it's obvious you are expecting. You cannot stay in the city where the father of your child murdered half of Hightown and caused the Magi rebellion."

She sat back against her chair heavily, but he knew from her features that she was finally considering his words. "So where shall I flee to?" she asked, her tone one of self-disgust.

"You are _not_ fleeing, Lorelai," he chastised, but she shook her head and did not respond. "I want you to come to Starkhaven. I am asking you to be my wife," he stated, and her eyes snapped to his, before she stood up and grasped the veranda's railing.

"No, Sebastian," she said quickly. "I will _not_ be your burden."

"I will NOT hear you call yourself such again," he said fiercely, grasping her arm, forcing her to turn to face him. "Varric and Aveline have both heard of plots and rumors against you; you need protection – this child needs protection! There was a man in this house last night, Lorelai! Fenris and I slept right downstairs and never heard a damned thing!" he said. "It's too dangerous to even consid…"

"It was Anders," she interrupted.

Sebastian sagged against the railing, her words having the same effect as a physical blow. "_What_?"

She walked into the bedroom and approached the nightstand, slowly opening its small drawer, snatching something up before she quickly returned to him. Standing close, she held up a large key, and placed it into his hand.

"I found this on top of the nightstand this morning," she explained quietly. "It's the key that opens the lock at the tunnel entrance. Anders had the only one…he…he's not dead, Sebastian," she whispered.

He stared down at the key, his mind comparing what she had just confessed against his memory of the mage's blood pooling around his body. "I _watched_ you kill him, Lorelai," he argued.

"I thought I had," she said. "But this key…it was Anders' alone, and no one knew about the entrance from his clinic, no one," she stated. "When I saw him last night, I'd thought it had been a dream, but when I found this…" she gestured to the key in his open hand. "…It wasn't a dream, Sebastian; he was here, in my bedroom - I'm sure of it."

She ran her fingers through her hair, tucking a curl the wind had blown loose back behind her ear. "You cannot marry me, Sebastian. He's not dead, and this is his baby," she said sadly. "Once word gets out that I'm pregnant, I don't know what he will do," she explained. "I think last night was good-bye, but I can't make a promise that he won't come after me," she concluded.

Fury pulsed through his body as he imagined Anders standing over Lorelai, watching her while she slept - while she was at her most vulnerable. Standing over her while Sebastian was supposed to be protecting her. "I swear to you, Lorelai," he began, his chest rising and falling in his anger, "I swear I will never let him near you again. I will kill him myself," he vowed, his hand curling around the key.

"I will not let you be at risk because of me," she argued.

"Lorelai Hawke, I let you avoid facing facts – I let you take your time to see what I suspected Anders was capable of," he began, his tone hard. "I did not push you when I should have, and, by the Maker, I will not make the same mistake twice!" he barked. "You will be safe in Starkhaven; you'd be wife to a man who commands an army, and your status would protect you from almost all attacks," he continued, his tone forcing her to hold her piece. "Varric is already planting rumors that you left Anders weeks ago, and if we marry quickly then I can easily claim this child as my own. It would be a Vael, with all the rights and security that would come with that!"

"Sebastian," she whispered, her small hand reaching out for his. "You should marry someone you could love, someone you could have a real life with," she said quietly.

"I would be," he confessed.

Her hand began to shake in his, and she tried to pull it free from his, but he held fast.

She looked up at him, her lip trembling as she shook her head. "No, you wouldn't. I'm no good, Seb: he's ruined me, I'm broken," she admitted.

"The Maker put you into my life, and because of that, I found my way," he said slowly. "This is right, Lorelai - together we can make a life for this child and move away from all this. Please trust me," he begged. "I am not some young boy; I see things for what they are. This is what needs to be done," he said with certainty. "Marry me, Lorelai," he whispered.

"And what of Anders?" she replied softly.

Sebastian's heart skipped a beat, hope blooming within his chest. "We can be prepared for him," he answered. "Give me some time to think on it, but we can be ready for him."

"No one else can know he's alive, Sebastian. It only puts everyone in danger," she said.

"I agree."

She looked down at his hand holding hers, and slowly nodded. "You will regret this," she finally whispered, referring to his proposal.

"That's for me to decide," he countered. "Come to Starkhaven, and let me claim the child," he asked one last time.

"Why would you even want it?" she challenged.

"Every child deserves to be loved, no matter what their background," he answered quickly.

The wind blew through the open courtyard, the gust strong enough to loosen petals from the plum trees below. Lorelai closed her eyes and let the breeze caress her skin as she searched her heart. She thought of her life as a child, and the memories she had of her father; how she had adored him, the joy she'd felt when he had smiled at her, and the safety she'd felt when he was near. It was not something she could give this child, not on her own.

"I will marry you," she said at last.

_**Thank you to Lisa for her fabulous beta talents, and epic impersonation of a sounding board!**_

_**Thanks to Jinx for playing "what if" with me!**_

_**Thanks to all of **__**you**__** for reading and reviewing, I'm very grateful!**_


	5. Expectation Management

**Expectation Management**

Aveline stood in the entry hall of the Hawke estate, quietly watching a small army of elves break down and pack up the contents of her friend's home.

When she had asked Sebastian to speak with Lorelai three days ago, it had been an impromptu decision on her part. She had wondered to herself, after Sebastian had left her office, if her insistence that he see Lorelai had been the right thing to do.

She had spent the last four years goading him into taking action, harassing and needling him with innuendo or outright statements to reclaim his lands, and, in doing so, had inadvertently strained the friendship she and the reluctant Prince shared – something Aveline quietly regretted.

But despite her occasional mishandling of their relationship, several things still tied them together and they were what had allowed her to trust in her choice to seek his aid: a sense of duty, a shared code of honor, and their dedication to Lorelai Hawke.

"I was wondering when I would see you," said Lorelai as she approached Aveline.

Aveline quickly noted that her friend's color was much improved since her last visit with her, and she was relieved to see Lorelai out of her mother's room and moving.

Lorelai paused, allowing a worker to hurry by, and then stepped over a rolled-up carpet, picking her way through the obstacle course of boxes and crates until she reached the guard captain's side.

"You've wasted little time," Aveline commented on the partially-dismantled interior. "I am astonished at how quickly things are coming together."

"Yes, well, once Sebastian and Varric got together, things moved very fast," Lorelai replied. "Merrill was able to hire several men to help us, and Varric has arranged for most of this," she continued, gesturing to the stacked household items, "to be stored in a warehouse in Lowtown."

"Not taking anything with you, then?" Aveline asked.

"Well, of course, some things will come along with me," Lorelai answered, "but Sebastian isn't certain of the condition of his palace, or where we will be while he works things out with his cousin," she stated. "So I will take my personal things, and my weapons and armor, but everything else will be stored."

"That's right," Aveline said, tapping her forefinger to her chin. "He had a cousin step in to rule, didn't he?"

"Actually, the cousin stepped in without any discussion with Sebastian," Lorelai explained, "but the man's in his later years, and apparently he's considered rather mad," she continued. "Goran Vael, yes, that's his name," she finished.

"I've heard about him," Aveline said, nodding. "But the rumors I've heard are that he's simple, not mad, and hasn't handled the nobles there with any skill at all. Does Sebastian expect fighting?" she asked.

Lorelai's brow furrowed. "I can't say," she replied. "He hasn't shared a great deal with me yet, he's been so occupied with our departure," she explained, sighing and running her fingers through her hair. "Why don't we get out of everyone's way? Would you like some tea? We can take it in the kitchen."

Together, the two women worked their way through the house, careful not to interrupt the busy staff. In a few short minutes, Orana had greeted them and the warrior and rogue were seated comfortably at the house staffs' table as Orana set a tea service before them.

"Thank you so much, Orana," Lorelai said kindly. "If it doesn't disrupt your day, could Aveline and I speak in private?"

"Oh, yes, of course mistress," the elf answered and with a quick bob of her head, the young woman gracefully departed the room.

The room was silent, save the gentle tinkle of Aveline's spoon touching the side of her cup as she stirred in her milk. Aveline noticed that Lorelai seemed to be watching this activity intensely, but did not comment.

"I've fucked everything up, Aveline," she said softly.

Aveline lifted her cup to her lips and took a small sip. "Perhaps not _everything_," she replied, "but yes, you have made a real mess of it," she agreed.

Lorelai closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

"You're doing the right thing, though," Aveline continued.

"Really?" Lorelai asked quietly. "How so?"

"This marriage is a start, Lorelai," Aveline said with soft conviction. "Sebastian is a good man - an honorable man - and he will take proper care of you - of you both."

Lorelai scoffed. "I'm glad you think so," she muttered sarcastically.

"I take it that means you don't?" Aveline challenged.

Lorelai shook her head, her finger tracing the edge of her saucer. "I think it's a good marriage for _me_; I'm not so sure about Sebastian," she replied. "He's taking on a fool of a woman who is pregnant with another man's child, who is the offspring of a mage _and_ a declared enemy of the Chantry. Sebastian's definitely getting the short end of the stick," she said. "And we don't love each other."

"Love is a luxury you cannot afford, Lorelai," Aveline stated.

Lorelai did not look up, but instead continued to trace her cup with her fingertip.

"What do you intend to do about it, then?" Aveline asked. "If you think this 'deal', as you call it, is so unfair to Sebastian, then why have you accepted his proposal?"

The rogue's eyes returned to her friend's. "I don't really have a lot of other options, do I?" Lorelai replied eventually.

"No, you don't, so I suppose you had better make the best of it, and stop this moaning," Aveline said, her tone hard. "I've known you for a very long time now, Lorelai, and I can understand why you reacted the way you did when you realized you were expecting, but you've made a decision, you have a plan – and it's a damned good one."

"Yes, it is," Lorelai agreed.

"Do I need to remind you he is a grown man, older than you, as a matter of fact, by several years? Have you ever seen him behave foolishly?" Aveline queried.

"No, Aveline, I have not, but…"

"But nothing," Aveline interrupted. "Have you ever witnessed him being impulsive? Ruled by passion?" she pressed.

Lorelai sighed. "No," she answered.

"No, you haven't, and neither have I – not even when he was faced with Lady Harimann and that desire demon, even then he listened to what that harpy had to say, didn't he?" Aveline said. "Sebastian hardly seems uncertain of your arrangement – in fact, he seems quite motivated."

Lorelai shook her head and sighed, gently smirking at Aveline. "Have you a point?" she asked.

Aveline chuckled. "I suppose the point is that yes, you've fucked things up, but you've taken what steps you can to remedy that. There's no other choice but to get on with it, so you may as well smile while you do so," she stated as she looked pointedly at Lorelai.

Lorelai met her friend's gaze and smiled slowly. "Are you sure you're the captain? You seem better drill sergeant material to me," she teased, and Aveline smiled in return.

"Ha! Well, I never was one to mince words, now was I?" Aveline said with a smile.

"No," Lorelai agreed. "And while sometimes it makes me want to hit you, your honesty means a lot; I count on it," she confessed. "I cannot tell you what a gem that makes you."

"A gem? Huh, normally it's pronounced '_bitch'_," Aveline teased.

The old friends laughed, and Aveline popped a small biscuit into her mouth.

"Since you think this is a good plan, marrying Sebastian, I mean, will you stand with me tonight when I make my vows?" she asked.

Aveline swallowed her bite and blinked. "I would stand with you anywhere, Hawke," she replied, her voice a small whisper.

Lorelai nodded, and she reached out to squeeze her friend's hand. "And I, you," she answered, emotion straining her voice. Both women cleared their throats, neither prone to sharing such deep-felt thoughts with anyone.

Aveline sipped the last of her tea and set her cup down into its saucer. "Well, I can't very well attend a wedding in my uniform, now can I?" she said as she stood up from the table. "Donnic has the night watch down at the docks tonight, so I'll just walk home now, tell him good night, and get changed."

"Shall I walk with you?" Lorelai offered, pushing back to rise from the table as well. "I haven't been out in ages," she finished.

"Ah, Hawke…Lorelai, uh, listen," Aveline started, and then paused, searching for the right words. "It wouldn't be a good idea for you to join me," she said awkwardly. "I, well, there are plenty who might give us some trouble if you're seen; better to stay put, alright?"

Lorelai felt a shiver of anxiety run through her; this was her home, but she was no longer welcome. "Right," she answered, forcing a smile onto her face. "Of course, I just…I didn't think, that's all," she stammered. "Go. Tell Donnic hello for me? Tell him I hope I can see him before I go to Starkhaven."

Aveline nodded and smiled. "I will, and I'm sure he would like to say good-bye in person," she agreed.

They stood staring at each other, the awkward tension crackling between them. Lorelai finally sat back down, and picked up her tea cup.

"Best finish this while it's still hot," she said quickly.

"Right; I'm off then," Aveline said and waved once before leaving the kitchen for her home.

Lorelai stared down into her tea cup, watching the small leaves move in a slow swirl at the bottom. She closed her eyes in frustration, her anger and upset at the entire series of events that Anders had set into motion so long ago again trying to overwhelm her.

She hated this.

She hated that she was pregnant, that she had to escape what should be safe; she hated that Sebastian was sacrificing himself to help her, that she must let him.

With a growl of frustration, she stood up and stepped back from the table. Aveline was right: decisions had been made, and it was time to act upon them.

"Forward," Lorelai said. That single word was a lifeline in the tossing sea her life had become since the chantry had been destroyed. "Forward."

**xXx**

Varric set his mug of ale down on the table top and glared at the messenger standing before him.

"Are you trying to tell me that the Coterie _took_ the fucking contract?" he barked.

"That's the scuttle in Darktown," the scraggly young man replied.

"Son of a bitch!" Varric muttered as he stood up from the table. "Maker's balls!" he swore as he began pacing the room in the back of the Hanged Man where he typically conducted his business.

"How'd you hear about it?" Varric asked him.

"It's quite the contract, ain't it? Between the young scamps who think they'll take her out with nothin' but a quick shank to the ribs, and the older fellows who flat refuse to take the job," he said, "there's not much else on anyone's mind."

"Who's backing it?" Varric demanded.

"That I can't say, but it's done," the messenger answered.

Varric strode to his bookcase and pulled out a small lock-box, counting out two sovereigns. Turning back, he handed his payment to the messenger, who gasped at the large amount.

"I don't need this much, Varric," he protested. "I owed her after all; if it weren't for her, Cricket and I would be dead by now."

"Take it, Walter; Maker knows you could use it," Varric argued. "Besides, you did me a huge favor – I hadn't heard anything solid about this, and certainly nothing this detailed," he explained. "Do you know when?"

"No, that part ain't being talked up just yet," Walter answered the dwarf. "But I'll get you word if I hear," he promised.

Varric nodded. He could trust this young man, whose life had been saved because of his interaction with Lorelai, and he hoped his generous payment for the information would help to maintain the young refugee's loyalty.

"Thanks Walter," Varric said as he showed the man out. "You're a good kid; you have no idea what a help you've been."

Walter hurried down the steps and disappeared into the large crowd that typically gathered towards the end of the day for a pint and a story. Turning quickly, Varric re-entered his room and gingerly picked up the only other female in his life that warranted the same intense loyalty Lorelai Hawke had earned so long ago.

Hoisting Bianca over his shoulder, he paused at the table side and slugged back the rest of his ale. With an admirable belch, the dwarf hurried out of his rooms, and soon departed the Hanged Man to work his way through the streets of Kirkwall.

Half an hour later he was thumping his fist hard against an ornately-carved but neglected looking door, his unrelenting cadence sure to draw the ire of the inhabitant of the home.

Suddenly the door opened and Varric pushed his way inside.

"Took you long enough to answer," Varric grumbled. "Get your sword elf; we've got business to attend to."

**xXx**

Lorelai stared at herself in the tall mirror in her bedroom, nervously fussing with her long hair.

For over an hour she had been dressed and ready to walk with Sebastian to the temporary chantry set up in Lowtown: ready to marry him.

He was late.

The anxiety she'd been experiencing throughout her afternoon was approaching a new threshold, and her body felt electric.

This was not the sense of anticipation that she would have thought to have felt on her wedding day, but then, she had not thought to be marrying a man she didn't love because the man she _had_ loved had murdered half of Kirkwall and left her alone with his bastard child.

"Funny how life goes, isn't it?" she asked her reflection.

She exhaled slowly, hoping it would calm her jumpy system, but she found she could no longer contain her need to move.

She left her bedroom for the loft that overlooked the front rooms of her home, her eyes running over the labels hammered onto the crates awaiting the wagon ride down to the warehouse district; they were all sealed, and their contents noted, and there was nothing here to busy herself with, so she moved onto her mother's bedroom.

The room had been mostly stripped bare: the linens, curtains, and her mother's personal effects were all packed and organized in their own small stacking of crates on the far side of the room. She went through the drawers of the bureau and opened the closets, but again found nothing to occupy herself with.

"Damn it," she muttered and strode out of the room.

She continued through each room of her home, disappointment compounding her frustration with herself, until she finally went to the kitchen and informed Bodhan that she was going for a walk to the Market.

"Mistress, I would ask that you don't do that," Bodhan protested. "It's near sunset, and the market will be closing soon, anyway. His Highness will be arriving for you at any moment, I'm certain of it," the dwarf said in an assuring tone.

Lorelai stared at him for a second, and then sighed. "No word yet? Not even Aveline is here; do we have the time wrong?" she asked in annoyance.

"No, no word," Bodhan replied. "I'm sure they will all be here soon," he offered. "Why not take a stroll through the courtyard garden? Orana mentioned that several of your mother's favorite blooms were open."

Lorelai nodded. "Alright, Bodhan," she agreed. "But if they aren't here soon, I'm going to change out of this dress and go train in the side yard," she stated as she left the kitchen and headed to the garden doors. "Sebastian can just marry me smelly."

She entered the garden and wandered, not really seeing the beauty that surrounded her, but the scents of her mother's treasured lilac bushes soon drew her to their secluded corner.

Sitting down on a bench, she watched the wind gently bounce the miniscule purple flowers and smiled softly; she remembered when her mother had seeded these plants, and her absolute happiness in being able to place them here.

"These were my favorites when I was a little girl," her mother had said as she transferred them into the ground. "It's far too cold in Ferelden to sustain them," she had explained. "I have missed their scent," she had finished, patting the loose soil into place.

Lorelai wondered if they would thrive in Starkhaven.

"Starkhaven," she muttered as her mind came to the true reason for her agitated state.

In the short time since she had accepted Sebastian's offer of marriage, the Prince of Starkhaven had taken control of her life. She'd been grateful, knowing he'd directed the closing of her home and made final arrangement for the staff's salaries in an effort to not only help her, but to ensure that the timeline they so desperately needed to establish could be met.

It must be believed by everyone that this child in her womb was Sebastian's. They had to present themselves as a loving and newly-wed couple for Sebastian's plans to have any chance of success.

He had left her little doubt of his genuine faith in his plan, having secured her promise to marry him. He had shared with her the decisions made with Varric, and had explained in great detail the stories being supplied to the gossips through Varric's well-connected network.

They had talked about how things would be addressed, when they would wed, and what he would offer her in their marriage.

Lorelai had not asked him what she could offer _him_.

She knew he had left the Chantry, that, not having completed his final vows - thanks to Elthina's refusal - he had been able to end his time as a servant to the Maker without any dishonor. He had told her intentions regarding Starkhaven, but he hadn't told her anything about what opposition he may face there, or how he intended to meet it.

She knew he expected her to play the role of well-bred, graceful wife, but that was a rather broad description of his hopes.

Admittedly, Lorelai had been less than her usual self in the last two weeks, but she trusted that Sebastian would not forget that she was a strong opinioned, intelligent woman who was fully able to contribute to his goals for his kingdom.

Did he wish for her to advise him in political situations? Did he want her to host social events, to lead the wives of the nobility of Starkhaven in charitable works? Was he hoping she would act as an equal partner or was she to be silent at the sidelines?

Did he expect more heirs?

"Heirs," she whispered.

If Sebastian did not expect their marriage to be a true one, then how did he see their future together?

She considered this new thought for several moments. Would their marriage be a physical one? Sebastian had been willing to commit to a life of celibacy when he had intended to become a priest, but now, without that vow being required of him, would he expect intimacy between them?

Did she?

Lorelai bit her lip as she recalled the one vivid dream she'd had of Sebastian Vael. It was not one she had shared with anyone, most certainly not with the lover who had been sleeping next to her that night.

The dream had been a highly erotic one, the kind of which she'd only experienced a few times during her life. For weeks afterwards, she hadn't been able to see him without remembering the intense night of passion her imagination had cooked up, without her body responding to the thoughts of what his weight above her had felt like, the feel of him moving within her.

She'd never felt so guilty or embarrassed in all her life.

As she recalled that single instance in their friendship when she had wondered if there would be more between them, she was forced to admit that it would be naïve to think it avoidable in their marriage.

If one considered things from all angles, it only made sense for that part of the marriage to eventually begin. He was living proof that a Prince can never have too many heirs, and she was still in the very earliest stages of her first pregnancy; what if she miscarried? What if the child was stillborn?

She stood up from the bench and reached out to pluck a small cluster of the fragrant blooms. Carrying them across the courtyard, she gently laid them on the small marker that had been made in remembrance of her parents.

Their marriage, she thought, as she touched her fingertips to the cool stone, had been a very happy one. She had never considered a marriage to be worth having without the love she had seen her parents share.

Standing up and brushing off her hands, she quietly re-entered the house and went in search of Bodhan.

_**Dear Lisa, that settee is looking pretty good. Don't mind me if I face-plant into it…I promise not to spill my wine. Thank you for whipping this chapter into shape – you're amazing.**_

_**Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I genuinely appreciate each and everyone's comments and PM's, you are all fantastic! Happy Mother's Day!**_


	6. Run

**Run**

Fenris lowered his blade, crimson streaks dribbling off of its edge.

To his left, above him on a stair landing was Varric; Fenris could sense that the dwarf was still surveying the area for further threats. Sebastian was across the room, tucked into the corner, his long bow drawn and an arrow nocked at the ready.

Merrill moved forward to stand over a dead elven mage, chanting something under her breath, but her staff remained at the ready.

Aveline was the first to relax her stance, sheathing her sword behind her shield before moving swiftly to check the senior Coterie member for any signs of life. Kneeling low, she jerked off her gauntlet and felt the neck of the woman for a pulse, before looking back at Fenris.

"Dead," she called out as she returned to her feet.

Sebastian hurried to join the others, each arriving at the base of the stairs that led out of the warehouse they had just swept clean of Coterie thugs.

"This has yielded nothing, Varric," Sebastian said, breathing heavily.

"I told ya, choir boy," Varric replied as he began to collapse Bianca. "This was very raw information. But I gotta admit, I would liked to have found _something_ to give us some kind of clue about this contract on Lorelai," the dwarf finished sourly.

"Let us check the corpses," Fenris suggested, and the party began to do just that.

After milling through the rooms, each of them moving to the bloody remains to search through pockets, satchels, quivers, and boots, no tangible information was yielded.

"So what, then, in the Maker's name were they all doing here, gathered like this?" Sebastian demanded as he paced the main room of the warehouse.

"Isn't it a bit odd that we come here - following your lead - to the warehouse where Sebastian has arranged to store Lorelai's things, and we find it full of Coterie?" Merrill began. "You don't think…" She paused, her gentle voice trailing off.

"What, daisy?" Varric asked, his tone one of indulgence, though the others didn't appear to be listening.

"You don't find it…odd? That all this," she gestured at the room, strewn with dead bodies, "is here, just like Varric heard?"

"What is it you think we are discussing, blood mage?" Fenris growled, his fierce stare pinning her in her spot.

"I _know_ what we are discussing, Fenris, and if you're quite finished being your usual cheery self, I will finish my thought, hmm?" Merrill replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Fenris sighed but nodded.

"Not one of these Coteries had any real rank in the organization. I recognize their leader, she shopped in the alienage from time to time," Merrill continued. "Her name was Sansa, and she wasn't all that long in their service, but she was clearly in charge here, wasn't she? Why would she be here if _this_ was where we needed to be?" Merrill pointed out.

"The demon-lover has a fair point; would they leave this kill to a low ranking member? Wouldn't they…" Fenris began, but was cut off by Aveline.

"No, no they wouldn't," the guards' captain agreed. "Unless… you think they _wanted_ us here?"

Merrill nodded vigorously, pointing at Aveline. "Yes! I think this was a…oh, blimey, what's your word for it?"

"Set-up," Sebastian whispered, his color draining. "Oh, Maker! Bloody hell! They're distracting _us_!" he cried as he ran out of the warehouse.

The group raced after Sebastian, who was at a full run; Varric loaded a bolt into Bianca and fired just ahead of the Prince, bringing his sprint to a halt.

"Varric? What are you doing?" Aveline yelled as she hurried past the dwarf.

"Choir boy! Aveline! Stop!" Varric cried as they caught up to him.

"Varric! They're _there_! We must go!" Sebastian barked as he again turned to run toward the steps that led up to Lowtown and would take him to Lorelai's home.

"Sebastian!" Fenris called out. "There is a faster way!" the elf said as he reached the archer's side and grasped his elbow, turning the man sharply into an alley. Fenris led them all to a dead-end and then crouched low to work a heavy iron manhole cover out of its resting place.

"The tunnel," Fenris said in a grunt as he shifted the hefty lid.

"The tunnel?" Sebastian asked, bending to aid Fenris. "You found the exit then?"

"What tunnel?" Aveline queried, her eyes darting between the two men as they labored to move the grate. "Do you mind telling me what in Andraste's arse you're going on about? We're losing time!" she demanded.

"The abomination had his own personal tunnel into Hawke's bedroom," Fenris sneered as he straightened up and met Aveline's eyes. "Sebastian and I found the doorway in her closet, and I found its exit yesterday."

Sebastian dropped from sight as he entered the sewer, and Fenris soon slid down. Merrill sat gingerly at the tunnel's entrance, and Aveline heard Sebastian call up to the small elven woman that he would catch her; Merrill slipped through the hole.

"Varric, do you know anything about this?" Aveline asked.

"They found the tunnel two days ago; apparently it opens up not too far from where Blondie's clinic was," the dwarf replied. He was standing over the hole, carefully lowering Bianca down to a waiting Fenris. "It leads straight up a few flights of stairs; sounds like it should shave a good fifteen minutes off of our trip to Hightown."

Aveline shook her head as she watched Varric disappear. Quickly she removed her shield and sword, and, passing them through the opening, she followed Varric down, joining the group.

Fenris pointed the way and started down the dark path. Merrill cast a spell wisp to offer some light, and Sebastian, looking grim-faced, wasted no time in following the elves.

"I never should have left her alone," Aveline muttered as she too fell into line.

Varric arched an eyebrow and shook his head. "Aveline, you couldn't have known; hell, we all got caught with our pants down on this one," he assured her as he too met the hurried pace. "But don't worry, nothing's going to happen to her – it is Hawke after all," he said with forced confidence.

Aveline stopped short and whirled around to face him. "She is _not_ ten feet tall, Varric! She is _not_ bloody invincible!" she cried. "She's human, completely unaware of the threat, and may as well be alone, for all the good Bodhan and the others would be in a fight!"

Varric's nostrils flared, his witty comeback dying before his lips could even form it. With a curt nod, the warrior and the rogue ran to catch up with their friends.

**xXx**

Lorelai finished lacing the side of her leather boot closed before she stood straight and plaited her hair.

She had waited a full hour further before her nervous state of mind had compelled her to change into her armor. She didn't know what was keeping Sebastian or Aveline but she did know that the rolling emotions each tick of the clock brought her were fast becoming too much.

She needed a distraction.

A few minutes later, having selected two of her favorite daggers, she descended the stairs and entered the back hall, intending to cut through the kitchen to the tiny but private training yard.

"Mistress!" Orana called just as Lorelai set foot at the entrance to the hallway, and she turned toward the front of the house instead, looking to answer.

Lorelai returned to the main hall, but didn't see the other woman. Changing her direction, she walked through the doorway of the library, calling out, "Orana?" but again, received no answer.

"Huh, I was certain I had heard her," Lorelai mumbled to herself as she spun on her heel and returned to the front hall. As she moved toward the hall that led from the front of the house, a movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention.

Lorelai halted before deciding to maneuver around the few crates and boxes that had been left out. "Orana?" she called out. Suddenly, the elven woman stood before her.

"Mis…mistress," the elf stammered. "I am s…sorry, I didn't know," she whimpered.

"What?" Lorelai asked, shaking her head in confusion. "Orana, are you alright?" she asked as she reached out and touched the arm of the elf.

Without warning, Lorelai was thrown back hard onto the stone floor, Orana lying on top of her. Understanding there was danger but not knowing from what, Lorelai tried to move Orana off of her, but the smaller woman's weight was cumbersome as Orana was not moving; to Lorelai's horror, an arrow protruded from her back.

"Orana!" Lorelai whispered frantically, as the familiar sound of a bow string being drawn taut reverberated through the near-empty room. An arrow thudded into the wooden crate mere inches from Lorelai's head and in an act of desperation, she scooted them over to hide behind a cluster of crates.

Having bought them a few extra seconds, Lorelai attempted to separate herself from Orana, but the arrow that had sent the elf slamming down on top of her had completely passed through Orana, and its barbed tip was piercing Lorelai's leather armor, binding them together.

Realizing that Orana was dead and would not feel the agony of trying to separate them, Lorelai roughly lifted her chest from Orana's, turning until she could dislodge the tip of the arrow, its claw-like barbs shredding her breastplate.

Crawling on her hands and knees, Lorelai weaved her way through the room, seeking the safety of the back hall. She knew she could escape through the tunnel in her bedroom, but she wouldn't leave Bodhan and Sandal to fend for themselves.

Arrows rained from the opening of the entry way and she could clearly hear the movement of several attackers. Desperate, Lorelai tugged at the side of an open crate, wrangling the wood free to use as a shield.

She ran for it.

**xXx**

Fenris stepped aside, yielding to Sebastian as the group walked the last ten feet up to the door which would admit them to Lorelai's house.

Sebastian, taking the lead, silently reached the panel which contained a series of intricate locks, and began to deftly manipulate the sealed door. After Lorelai's confession that Anders was still alive and had already used this entry point once to visit her in the middle of the night, Sebastian had insisted on securing the door in a more complex way.

He only hoped he could outsmart the locks he had installed.

Through the door Sebastian began to hear sounds from inside the home, and his belly became a cold pit; it was clear the estate had been breached.

"Sebastian, do you not hear the clamor within?" Fenris asked in a low and terse voice.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, but he did not look away from his task of tripping the last tumbler with his lock pick.

"I do," he calmly answered the elf.

"Then why do we wait for you to unlock this door? Stand aside!" Fenris barked.

Sebastian had only a fraction of a second to avoid being struck as the warrior brought the hilt of his great sword down onto the locks, shattering them and loosening the panel in its frame.

"That'll do," Varric quipped from behind them.

Sebastian readily rammed his shoulder against the heavy oak panel, Fenris lending his own force to their purpose and the panel splintered from its frame, the two men toppling out. The others quickly filed through the entrance and stepped over them.

Aveline offered Fenris a hand up, and Varric helped haul Sebastian to his feet.

Lorelai's bedroom was mostly empty, save the two medium-sized chests that had been left for her to pack her personal belongings in.

Varric quickly crossed over to her bedroom door, which was closed. He flattened himself against the wall adjacent to the door, and the others - having long since mastered the symphony of working together - assumed positions around the room, prepared for whatever may be waiting on the other side.

With a sharp nod, Varric slowly cracked the door open and they listened intensely to the distinct silence that greeted them. The dwarven rogue arched an eyebrow and pursed his lips, his countenance conveying what they were all thinking…_not good._

Varric allowed the door to drift so that it fully opened, craning his neck around the door edge, looking up the small hallway that led to the loft above the main hall.

An arrow thudded into the top of the frame.

"They know we're here!" cried Varric.

"On me!" Aveline bellowed and, charging the door, she hunkered down behind her shield, the rest following her out in single file order.

Arrows rained down around them and just as Fenris roared his battle cry, they heard orders being issued by the Coterie leader:

"Kill them! Then move to the rear of the building – she's holding out in the back!"

"Merrill! There's no cover here! Stay with Aveline!" Sebastian barked as he ran across the loft and leapt up into the deep sill of one of the windows overlooking the hall.

It was not the best position for his own safety but he could effectively pepper the majority of the room with his shots, and began to pick off their enemies.

Fenris and Aveline forced their way down the short flight of steps, Merrill encasing herself in an arcane shield before slipping into the library.

As Varric and Sebastian worked in unison, suppressing the movements of the fighters, Fenris and Aveline began cutting through those pinned down. Soon, out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian noticed Merrill appear directly across from him, having hidden herself on the opposite balcony.

"I'm casting!" she called out in warning to her companions below. Aveline and Fenris struck their final blows just as fire began raining down, curling and licking its way through the main hall.

Screams of pain filled the lofty room, and the boxes and crates were soon ablaze, driving whoever was still using them for cover out and into the open.

Sebastian and Varric effectively ended their escape, their arrows dropping the men as they stood up.

The spell ran its course, the charred corpses sizzling as the wooden crates crackled, leaving the room completely destroyed. Merrill surveyed the damage her powerful spell had wrought, and smiled sheepishly down at them.

"Oh my," she said breathily. "I've never used that _indoors_ before," she admitted, biting her lip. "I dare hope Lorelai won't be too angry with me?" she pondered.

They each left their positions and moved to the bottom of the steps, with Merrill, Varric and Sebastian arriving beside Aveline and Fenris.

Merrill daintily stamped out a lingering flame beside a gnarled, blackened body.

"Well, look at it this way, daisy," Varric began. "You're saving choir boy a fortune in warehouse fees."

Sebastian nocked a new arrow into his bow.

"The rest moved to the back; let's go," he ordered and left for the servants' hall, not waiting for the others to follow.

**xXx**

Lorelai spun and slit open the leather armor covering the belly of her opponent, before dragging the other blade over the path of the first; the man's innards peeked through the opening.

With a sweeping kick to the back of his legs, the man fell like a stone, his hands clutching at his insides as he screamed.

"Bodhan! Move!" she cried as the door off the kitchen to the side yard burst open, sending debris flying across the room.

The dwarf cried out, but cleared the path, brandishing a rolling pin in one hand and a butcher's knife in the other. The kitchen was filling with enemies, and Lorelai killed or incapacitated one, only to have to fend off another.

"Back!" she called and the elder dwarf grasped Sandal by his arm, hauling the simple man to the back of the kitchen.

Bodhan opened the pantry door and hurried into the adjoining room as Lorelai backed up, defending them as they went.

As soon as she entered the room, the head of her household slammed the solid door shut, dropping the bar that secured it into its slots.

Instantly, the door began to shudder inside its frame, and Lorelai and Bodhan worked together to move heavy barrels in place, attempting to shore up the door against the onslaught.

"Bodhan," Lorelai panted. "Get Sandal into the cellar, then come help me hold this!" she grunted as she braced her back against the stacked barrels and crates.

Bodhan ran to the end of the pantry and grunted as he hauled back the trapdoor that covered the stairs down into the cellar. Quickly he led Sandal below and soon returned.

"Lorelai?" Bodhan whispered as he joined her and lent his weight to their task. "Do you hear that?"

Lorelai concentrated, but each attempt the Coterie made to ram through their barricade jarred her so roughly that she couldn't hear what Bodhan referred to.

"No," she replied, digging in her heels. "What do you hear?" she asked.

"I'm certain I heard Aveline yelling!" he stated.

"Wha…" Lorelai began but all at once their barricade violently gave way and she was thrown to her knees, Bodhan landing beside her.

"Cellar! They've got a mage! " she cried as she recovered her feet and grasped the dwarf by his collar, dragging him behind her. With a hard shove, she forced the elder man through the opening before she followed him down the ladder, grabbing the latch rope and slamming the lid closed behind her.

She ran through the dark, cold room, seeking out where Sandal and Bodhan were huddled behind a wall of potato sacks. The sound of the trap door opening was soon followed by the heavy footfalls of their attackers spreading out to search the cavernous cellar.

They were trapped like rats.

Bodhan squeezed her arm. "It's been an honor," he whispered, before he turned to Sandal. The father wrapped his arms around the son, and she heard Bodhan speak softly to Sandal. "We're going to go back to the Stone now, my boy, just you and me," he said.

She swallowed hard, forcing down her panic as she clutched her daggers.

Her daggers.

"Sandal!" she rasped as dropped to her knees in front of the enchanter. "Your rune! Sandal! It's in this dagger!"

The simple savant nodded slowly. "Boom?" he asked.

"Boom! Sandal, make the boom!" she ordered.

"Okay," he replied amicably and moved out in front of the sacks that concealed them. Instantly, the Coterie sighted him and closed in on their location.

The air in the room went still, before it began to whip past them, sucking her and Bodhan back against the sacks. They could hear the fighters tumbling to the dirt floor, the distinctive sound of metal clanking and dragging filling the room, along with the Coterie's shocked outcries.

As rapidly as the violent pull began, it reversed, and a moment later, an enormous rupture of energy whooshed past Lorelai and Bodhan, slamming them both into the earthen wall behind their hiding place.

Lorelai's ears rang as she slowly pushed herself up, her head throbbing with horrendous pain.

"Lorelai! Lorelai!" she heard someone yelling.

As her focus returned she realized that it was Sebastian, and as her eyes readjusted, she saw the backlight of the pantry pour down the stairs, her trusted friends rushing down with it.

Fenris and Varric stopped short, surveying the damage around them.

"This looks familiar," Varric commented before he retracted Bianca.

Bodhan came to his feet and stumbled to a lantern, striking the flint next to it, illuminating their location. All around the cellar were the crumpled forms of their dead attackers.

Sebastian raced toward Lorelai with Aveline close on his heels. The archer dropped to his knees, and pulled Lorelai hard against him, knocking what little wind she had regained back out of her.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, pushing her back to survey her for injuries. Not seeing anything life-threatening he drew her in for a hug. "Maker be praised, thank you, Andraste!"

"We're fine, Sandal saved us," she whispered against his cheek as she returned the hug. Slowly he helped her to her feet, where she found herself in another fierce hug, this one from Merrill.

"I thought that was the end of my lucky streak," she teased they began toward the steps.

"You?" Varric answered. "Never!" he finished with a laugh.

Sebastian stayed close to her as they all moved toward Sandal, who was standing in the center of the room, a clear blast pattern of bodies around him.

"That's my boy!" cried Bodhan as he pulled Sandal into his arms.

"Boom?" Fenris asked Lorelai as she reached him.

"Boom," Lorelai chuckled as she bent to kiss Sandal's forehead. "Well done, Sandal, well done," she whispered to the gentle simpleton.

Together they mounted the steps and each slowly emerged from the cellar, with only Varric remaining below, still admiring Sandal's work.

"How in the hell does he _do_ that?" Varric asked aloud, shaking his head as he turned to go.

**xXx**

Sebastian and Lorelai had gone straight from her home to the temporary chantry, where Mother Helena married them.

Darkness fell over Kirkwall as Sebastian observed their friends saying their good-byes; he repressed the urge to drag her onto their waiting craft.

He wanted her out of Kirkwall – now.

Lorelai had not argued; there wasn't any where safe for her to stay and she wasn't willing to put any of the others at risk.

With the exception of Isabella, her friend's homes and hang-outs hadn't changed in almost seven years; there was little chance the Coterie didn't know this.

She hugged Sandal one last time, offering her wishes for both he and Bodhan's success at the Orlesian court. The elder dwarf slung his arm around the other's shoulders and they quietly left for a small inn in Hightown.

Jasper and Orana had both been lost in the fighting, but Bodhan and Fenris had promised to look after their remains.

Varric would ensure the house was cleaned out and sealed. He also agreed to keep the estate's taxes up to date using the returns from the investments he had made with Lorelai, at least until the notoriety of the place lessened; Lorelai and Sebastian could decide then if they would sell it or not.

Aveline struggled - as did Lorelai - with their good-bye.

"I love you, you pain in the arse, you do know that, right?" the red-haired woman said as they hugged one another tightly.

"I love you too," Lorelai answered as Aveline stepped back. "Tell Donnic farewell for me?"

The guards' captain nodded. "Maker watch over you, Hawke," Aveline whispered, sniffing loudly.

"He is already, she married choir boy over there, didn't she?" Varric said, his voice gruff with emotion. "I don't 'do' mushy, Hawke, but I do 'do' drunk. Fenris? Care for a pint?"

"Whiskey sounds better, dwarf," Fenris replied from beside Sebastian, who had finished his farewells.

Merrill slipped her slender arms around Lorelai's waist for a light hug.

"I guess I can cavort with demons unimpeded now, at least," she said airily as she released Lorelai.

Lorelai forced a smile. "I suppose so," she admitted. "Though Fenris is still around," she noted in a lowered voice, gesturing over her shoulder.

"Good point," Merrill whispered in reply.

The elf turned on her heel and hurried away.

Fenris reached Lorelai's side and she turned to him, but he would not meet her eyes.

"You are the finest person I have ever known, Hawke," he stated solemnly. The warrior gestured to Sebastian. "He's a decent sort, despite his annoying tendency to win at cards and carry on about the Maker."

Lorelai chuckled. "He'll look out for me, and I will look after him," she replied.

Fenris' eyes finally met hers, his gaze intense. "Lorelai, if I didn't believe that, you wouldn't be leaving with him tonight," he vowed before he turned back to Varric, grunted, and left in the direction of the Hanged Man.

Varric and Aveline waved one last salute as Sebastian took her hand, leading her onto the small ship he had rented to take them out of Kirkwall.

Lorelai looked back as the few deckhands released the last of the moorings and pushed the ship out of its slip.

Her friends were gone.

**_My eternal thanks to the extraordinary Lisa for putting down the chair she was about to throw at Steve and applying her magical beta-skillz to this chapter! _**

**_My genuine appreciation to each of you for reading, reviewing, alerting, and for hitting that 'favorite' button - you are simply the best._**


	7. Scratching the Surface

**Scratching the Surface**

_The candlelight illuminated the narrow path that led to the altar, where the Holy Mother and Donnic awaited the arrival of the bride._

_Slowly, Lorelai made her way up the path, her simple yet elegant dress of iridescent silk changing its hue as the soft light reflected off of it. _

_The few guests present turned to watch as she made her way up the aisle, their quiet gasps telling Lorelai that Aveline had entered the chantry, and she smiled gently as she focused on Donnic's reaction. He looked awestruck._

_Good, she thought._

_It was rare to see Aveline out of her armor, rarer still to see her looking even remotely feminine. Today, however, Aveline had willingly allowed Isabella and Lorelai to elaborately style her hair, and apply some light make-up, effectively transforming the dour woman into a lovely bride._

_Lorelai reached Donnic and winked conspiratorially at the guardsman before she nodded demurely to the grinning holy woman and stepped to the left; Aveline arrived at her groom's side a few moments later. _

_Quietly, the vows were exchanged, the Mother asking Lorelai for the rings. As Aveline became wife to the man she loved, Lorelai could not help but smile, glancing lovingly over her shoulder at Anders who was watching her closely._

_As the Holy Mother introduced the newlywed couple to those who had gathered to witness their union, Donnic beamed at Aveline and offered her his arm, guiding his bride back down the aisle. Lorelai paused, allowing the Mother to take her place behind the new couple before she too fell into step, the guests following along._

_Aveline and Donnic reached the statue of Andraste, the Maker's bride, and they all waited as the Mother offered the traditional benediction. Bowing her head, Lorelai smiled gently as she felt Anders arrive at her side, his warm hand slipping into hers._

_With the prayers finished, the small crowd clapped and began to disperse, many headed to the Hawke estate for a wedding feast. Anders gently pulled her against him, softly placing a kiss against her temple._

"_I wish it could be us," he whispered softly into her ear. "I love you, Lorelai."_

"Lorelai?"

Lorelai gasped and started as she opened her eyes, the dream scattering in the winds that buffeted the ship carrying them away from Kirkwall.

"Hawke? I'm sorry, I hadn't realized you'd dozed off," said a deep voice.

Her husband's voice.

Looking up, her mind still fuzzy from her short nap, she saw Sebastian standing over her, a large blanket in his hands. He moved forward and wrapped it around her shoulders, before he sat down beside her.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You looked cold," he replied. "I didn't mean to disturb you," he mumbled in apology. "The cabin is almost ready; I know you must be exhausted. They didn't expect us until tomorrow night, so we've caught them a bit unprepared; I'm sorry, Hawke."

Turning her head slightly, she watched Sebastian as he settled on the bench next to her. He looked as tired as she felt, his gleaming white armor covered with soot, blood, and the dirt of her cellar.

Lorelai shifted slightly, snuggling the blanket around her. "It's Lorelai, you know," she said with a small smile. "I think most husbands and wives call each other by their first names," she reminded him and he offered her a smile.

"Yes, I suppose they do, don't they?" he agreed. His aqua-colored eyes wandered the fading horizon behind them and he sighed. "It's lovely, isn't it?"

Above her, the night sky was clear, and the last of the retreating sunlight submitted itself to the inevitability of the dark. The moon was slowly rising behind Sundermount, its peak the last part of home she could still make out.

It was beautiful.

Glancing away, she shrugged. "I'm not much of a sailor, I'm afraid; apparently it's only something I do when I'm running for my life," she said grumpily.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded slightly. "I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'm not usually so…glum."

"I know that," he replied softly. "Bad dream?" he asked, pushing a tangle of hair out of her face.

Her eyes darted away. "Something like that," she answered, not wishing to discuss it further.

Sebastian nodded, leaving the subject alone, instead quietly returning to his feet. Stooping, he tucked the loose edge of the blanket more securely around her.

Lorelai watched his movements, astounded by his seemingly bottomless concern for her. When he'd had time to arrange for this vessel, to plan everything, she had no idea, but she found herself enormously grateful for his calm countenance.

"The captain has not yet had time to speak with me, as our hurried departure demanded his full attention," he explained, straightening up again. "I'm going to talk with him now. Is there anything you need?"

Lorelai shook her head, and, watching her with a look of concern, Sebastian nodded before he turned to leave for the top deck.

"Seb?" she called out as a thought occurred to her, and he halted, looking back at her. "I haven't asked where we are going."

"Starkhaven," he answered matter-of-factly, an amused glint in his eyes.

"By sea?" she challenged.

He arched an eyebrow and walked back to her, crouching down in front of her. "We are sailing to Wycome, and will take a barge up the Minanter into Starkhaven," he explained, keeping his voice low.

"Wycome? So far? Why not Ostwick? The roads to Starkhaven from there are quite reliable," she commented, "at least, according to Varric."

His lips drew into a tight line as his nostrils flared. "Because the Coterie has a small but tangible presence there, and I will not do anything that endangers you," he answered.

"Oh," she replied softly, biting her lip. "Sebastian," she began, but hesitated as she chose her words. "I'm truly sorry for all of this mess, for this added trouble; you've already done so much."

"Lorelai," he began, but she rushed on.

"I know you have allies in Ostwick, I'm sure it would have been beneficial to call upon them. I'm very grateful to you," she whispered. "I cannot fathom how I shall repay you but…"

"There's nothing to repay, Lorelai," he interrupted, his tone harsh as he got back to his feet.

"Of course there is!" she protested. "You've done more for me than…"

"There is _no debt,_ Lorelai," he said firmly, his eyes narrowing. "I have done nothing that I was not willing to do. You are my _wife_: your burdens are mine, as mine are yours; we are one now. End of discussion."

Lorelai looked up at him, her mouth gaping in surprise. She had not intended to draw his ire, she had in fact only wished to express her thanks, but instead, she had quite clearly angered him.

"I…I'm sorry," she stammered. "I wasn't questioning your intentions. I meant no offense, I only wished to thank you," she said explained.

He rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, sending the usually combed back style blowing loose in the wind. It was longer than she had thought.

"Listen, Lorelai," he sighed in frustration as he sat down heavily beside her. "You did not offend me, forgive me if I seemed harsh," he stated. "I want this…I _need_ this to be perfectly clear between us; I do not see you as a burden, or this marriage as a sacrifice!"

He settled his back against the bow and looked up at the stars. "I care for you a great deal, Lorelai," he confessed. "I want to be a good husband to you, and your protection is paramount to me. Don't thank me for something that is…" he hesitated as his eyes returned to hers, "…natural."

"Your Highness? Forgive me, but the captain is looking for you, ser," said a young cabin boy.

Sebastian's gaze held hers a moment longer before he stood and answered. "Thank you," he replied and followed the lad up a short flight of stairs to the top deck.

**xXx**

Less than a half hour later, Lorelai and Sebastian were shown to their cabin by the captain, a formal man by the name of Gerald Foster.

Captain Foster was clearly honored to have been enlisted to transport royalty, and his stiff but proud manner conveyed it. He bowed low to Lorelai when she had been introduced to him, offering an elaborate greeting; one clearly practiced.

He was well-spoken and seemingly gracious. As Varric had long ago taught her, she observed the contenance of the man's crew; each member seemed well-fed and groomed, although the grooming may have been a result of their charter. None had seemed discontent, or abused, all of which reinforced the positive impression she had of the captain.

The cabin boy, Eli, had bowed slightly as the she and Sebastian had entered, and once given leave by his captain had taken great care in explaining the features of the very fine cabin they would be using.

The cabin, which Sebastian had estimated would be their home for the next three weeks, if the weather was favorable, was surprisingly large and well-appointed.

As Eli and Captain Foster began to make their exit, the captain informed them that a hot bath would be prepared for their comfort.

"It's scandalous for such esteemed persons to be set upon by street thugs," Foster commented.

Lorelai looked at Sebastian and waited for his response. Clearly a story had been supplied here, and she would not sabotage Sebastian's efforts.

"We are most grateful for your willingness to set us off ahead of schedule, Captain," Sebastian answered in a regal tone. "Our honeymoon will not suffer for long, due to you and your crew's generosity."

"We are honored by your choice in us, Your Highness," the man replied. "Good evening to you ser." He bowed to both of them. "My lady."

The captain and the cabin boy left quietly, Sebastian walking them to the door, shutting it behind them.

"Thieves?" she inquired, referring to Captain Foster's comments.

"Thugs," Sebastian corrected.

"Ah," she replied, nodding her head. "Yes, well Kirkwall has gone to the dogs as of late," she continued. "Someone should complain to the Captain of the Guard."

"It would do little good," he quipped. "I hear she's hard headed," he teased with a chuckle.

They both shared the laugh and fell quiet, an awkward silence settling between them.

Lorelai cleared her throat, spying the chest she had recognized earlier tucked against the opposite wall. "My things," she muttered and crossed to lift the lid.

Inside was much of her clothing, her private journals, and the few items of her family's that she had not been prepared to part with. Her fingers ran lovingly over a favorite tome of her father's before she reached in to pull out a nightgown.

"Thank you, Seb, for getting this here," she said softly.

"Varric remembered that, actually. I will not steal the man's credit; he's a good friend to you," he replied.

She nodded and stood, turning toward the large, comfortable looking bed. "He's completely full of crap, half of the time he isn't sure where his stories end and the truth begins," she said with a laugh. "But he's amazing," she fondly agreed.

The nightgown was bunched in her hand and she held it up. "I'm just going to go, uh, change," she stated, gesturing to the corner of the room where a privacy screen hid the area for dressing and bathing.

"Aren't you going to wait to clean up first?" he asked, looking her up and down. "We are both rather disgusting," he observed.

Glancing down at herself, she self-consciously brushed at the gaping rend in her breastplate, the dried blood there flaking slightly.

"It's Orana's" she said softly, referring to the blood. "They shot her in the back, you know," she explained, not looking up from the destroyed armor. "The arrow drove right through her; if I hadn't been so antsy about our marrying I would have still been in my dress. I had changed just a few minutes before."

She closed her eyes and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Lorelai," he offered quietly. "We were uncertain which lead to follow and…"

"It's no one's fault," she interrupted. "Well, mine, perhaps, but certainly not yours or anyone else's."

"Hawke," he began.

"Look, Seb," she interrupted. "I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about anything right now," she said, shaking her head sadly, dashing away a tear. "Damn it! I hate feeling so…so weak!"

A knock sounded on their door and Lorelai scurried toward the opposite end of the room as Sebastian greeted the staff. Four burly men entered the room, each lugging overly-large buckets of steaming water. The lad, Eli, directed them to the small tub behind the privacy screen, and, satisfied with the men's compliance, reverently inquired when they should return to empty the bath.

"In the morning, Eli," Sebastian replied. "My wife is in need of rest."

"Of course, Your Highness," the boy replied with a bow. "Good evening."

The crewmen and Eli hurriedly left the cabin, the door closing silently.

**xXx**

Dawn broke and Sebastian greeted it from the top deck of the ship.

He had left Lorelai sleeping fitfully in the center of the bed, his mind still mulling over their first night together.

Last night she had bathed, and he had followed after she finished. He had been eager to behave as casually as he could with her, anxious to put her mind at ease.

He had replayed those few small words - the unintentional confession she had made regarding their marrying - as he washed, and he understood then that he had rushed them forward based on his own rock-solid faith in their path. He had not questioned marrying her, and he was shaken to realize that the certainty may be one-sided.

With a sense of sadness, he willed himself to accept that perhaps it would remain that way.

He had found himself, after he was re-dressed, lingering at the corner of the privacy screen, watching her as she slowly worked out the tangles of her long, wet, locks.

Closing his eyes, his memory savored her simple beauty, her relaxed posture.

He had never experienced that kind of intimacy with a woman, the kind which he would now share daily with Lorelai. His days before he had been given to the Chantry had been spent drinking and whoring; he had indulged in every erotic fantasy he'd ever had and had reveled in the profuse variety of women.

He never knew them, had not even asked some of them their names.

As he had observed Lorelai last night, he realized that he knew very little about what it is to _know_ a woman; to see her unguarded, to know the meaning of her glancing looks, to know the desires of her heart.

Sleeping on the cramped chaise had not aided his roaming mind, and he had spent most of the night awake, wondering for the first time at the depth of the connection Lorelai and Anders had shared. These thoughts had left him feeling muddled and nervous.

He knew that Lorelai detested what Anders had done, that she felt betrayed, abused, and made the fool. He saw the pain in her eyes, her disconnection from them all, from him, but had he relied too heavily on her anger when he had pressed his suit?

Had he taken advantage of her trust just as Anders had? Had he steered these events to favor his desired outcome?

Was he no better than the man he loathed?

The pink and purple hues of the rising sun rioted together, the first rays of light sending columns of sparkling diamonds dancing across the calm waters. He heard the day crew moving through the ship, the day beginning in earnest and he left the top deck to return to their cabin.

A few minutes later he was turning the knob, and quietly re-entered, creeping across the room to the chaise he had slept on.

"Good morning," said a voice, and he looked up to see Lorelai watching him.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her chestnut hair surrounding her, and her eyes puffy from sleep.

"Good morning," he answered and bent to move the blankets from the chaise to the bed.

"So you're a morning person then?" she asked, her voice husky from sleep.

"The chantry has been making sure I was up at dawn for almost fifteen years," he commented as he folded the blanket.

"We have that in common at least," she said with a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Well, not the chantry part," she qualified, "but the morning part. That's a good thing, right? We can always have a chance to speak before you are off to your princely duties," she finished.

He nodded slightly and felt her eyes watching him as he moved back across the room.

"I, uh," she began slowly, uncertain of his mood. "I was rather terse with you last night, Sebastian, I'm sorry."

"You have no need to apologize," he answered, not looking at her; instead, he busied his hands with opening his small writing desk. "Yesterday was brutal, and you didn't want to talk," he said as he placed the small desk onto the dining table.

He watched her push herself up from the corner of his eye, saw her pull the edge of her nightgown over her slim white legs, and he turned his back to her, swallowing hard.

"But we _do_ need to talk, Seb," she argued.

"We will talk when you are ready to, Lorelai," he said over his shoulder, rifling aimlessly through the correspondence within the desk.

"I am asking to talk, aren't I?" she replied softly. "We have our whole lives ahead of us, a life together," she said pointedly. "I can hardly keep from wondering what that life may bring us."

"What do you want it to bring?" he asked, his heart beginning to thud.

He heard her sigh and the sound of rustling bed sheets. His trained rogue's ear heard the quiet pad of her approaching him.

"I want to be a good wife, and a good friend," she said with sincerity, arriving at his elbow. He was a good head taller than her and, without her shoes on, perhaps taller than that.

He looked down at her, scrutinizing her features. "You are my closest friend, Lorelai," he confessed softly.

She studied his aqua eyes and touched his arm. "So how do we begin?"

His eyes studied her hand, so warm against his skin. "You said last night that you were 'antsy' about our marriage," he admitted, struggling to keep the worry from his voice, but clearly failing.

"I didn't mean that; I…I didn't mean to imply that I was worried about _you_," she answered quickly. "It's just there's been so much happening, and I feel like I'm in the eye of a storm, watching everything swirl around me. I can't move forward because of what Anders chose to do, and I can't stay in place, because of what he did," she explained, shaking her head.

Her hand left his arm and she began to pace in front of the bed.

"I have been making my own decisions since the Blight, I've not had to depend on anyone for anything," she continued. "I looked after my mother, my uncle, my sister, hell, even Aveline sometimes. I fed them, I worked endlessly to provide."

She stopped pacing and placed her hand on the edge of the bed, toying with the coverlet.

"I've never needed rescuing, not like this," she muttered. "The Blight was nothing I could have stopped, nothing I could have controlled. But this…" she paused looking up at him, "…this calamity that my life has become, this I could have stopped. I could have listened to any of the warnings you, Aveline, Fenris, _everyone_ gave me about Anders.

"This mess is my doing, Sebastian, I ignored everything, I _chose_ this," she said in a brittle tone. "You asked me in Lowtown, when the chantry was destroyed, you asked me then, if I knew about his plan."

Sebastian's blood ran cold. "You said you didn'ae," he countered.

"Maybe I should have!" she answered. "Only a fool could have thought that piss and rock could somehow be a magical potion!" she laughed humorlessly.

He shifted his weight, uncertain how to proceed, what she needed him to say. Remembering she had said she wanted to have this conversation, he pressed on.

"So you knew he was gathering ingredients," he queried, fairly certain he didn't want the answer.

"Anders had had a rather public argument with a nobleman in the market of Hightown," she began. "I intervened, and Anders left the market very cross with me for doing so."

She sat down at the edge of the bed, drawing her knees to her chest.

"He didn't come home that night, and so I went to the clinic – I took the tunnel – and he was there, making up potions," she explained. "When I let myself in, he ignored me, and I lost my temper, stood in front of him, trying to force him to look at me, to speak to me," she said, her eyes distant.

"Then what?" he urged.

She closed her eyes. "He tried to move past me and I dug my heels in," she continued. "When I put my hands on his shoulders, Justice leapt forward in him, and things went…well, they went very wrong."

Sebastian moved across to her, anger at Anders surging through him. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded.

Lorelai gently shook her head. "No, at least, not physically," she replied. "But Justice made it very clear to me that he saw me as a hurdle to be cleared, and that the sooner he could turn Anders from me, the better their cause would be."

Sebastian sat down beside her on the bed, his body weight causing her to lean against him. Gathering his courage, he put his arm around her shoulder, quietly pleased she didn't flinch.

"When Anders 'returned' he was all apology and distress," she resumed. "He was overcome with sorrow and begged me to forgive him for losing control. We cried together, hating what had happened and he made love to me, right there in the clinic. It was awful and wonderful all at once."

Lorelai rested her head on his shoulder, not noticing the look of rage on his handsome face.

"A few days later he told me about a potion, a reference to something that the Tevinters had worked on, aimed at separating a spirit from a mage," she whispered. "I leapt upon the chance to get rid of that damned spirit in him! I practically ran to Sundermount."

"Oh, Lorelai, darlin'," he muttered, realizing the extent of the ruse Anders had created.

"He used my fears for him, for our life together to get the ingredients for his _bomb_."

She stood up and hurried away from him, the hurt and betrayal radiating off of her.

"It's not that I was antsy about you, Seb, it's that I was antsy I was blundering along again," she stated. "I'm drowning in the endless questions about the last four years of my life. I just…I just wanted to talk to you before we married, to understand your expectations, but we never had the chance."

"And now it's done," he said.

"Now, it's done," she whispered. "Sebastian," she continued, her voice strong once more. "Will you do something for me?"

He pushed off of the bed and moved to her side, catching her hand into his. "If it's within my power to do so, then aye," he said seriously.

"Don't lie to me - ever," she said. "I have no right to ask for anything more of you," she continued quickly. "You've sacrificed so much and I have little to offer in return, but please, don't try to trick me or hide things from me."

"Lorelai," he began, his hand leaving hers to touch her cheek.

"Please," she interrupted. "I will do everything I can to make this marriage work, to be the wife you need, to help you rebuild."

She shifted and looked up into his eyes, the intensity of her feelings unmistakable as he met her gaze.

"I would rather you tell me everything, even what _I_ don't want to know, than be lied to again. Please?" she pleaded. "Politics, plots, mistresses, court gossip, any and all of it – can you do that for me?"

"There will be _no_ mistresses, Lorelai," Sebastian said with conviction before his features softened and he sighed. "But aye, I promise you, I will not lie to you," he vowed.

"Ever," she reiterated.

"Ever," he promised and wrapped his arms around her, holding his wife close.

_**My boundless thanks to Lisa for her lickety split beta, she's like Mario Andretti with a red marker y'all, except she's a girl…and a Brit…and rides the bus…well, you get my meaning anyway! Thanks Lisa!**_

_**Allow me to also thank each of you for taking the time to read and follow this story. Not only am I grateful for each alert, review, and favorite, but the happy dance I do with each one is getting pretty fancy! Thank you!**_


	8. Chain Effect

**Chain Effect**

Merrill shifted on her stool, her legs dangling uncomfortably above the floor.

"You'd think they have gotten a few seats that fit others," she commented. "I mean, this _is_ the closest place to grab a pint from the alienage," she continued, gesturing around her. "Look at all the other elves in here! Honestly, my legs are falling asleep!"

Fenris ignored her, but she noticed that he shimmied forward on his own stool, firmly planting a bare foot on the grimy floor.

"I am having no such difficulty," he finally replied.

Merrill shook her head, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Oh, yes, considering how you _tower_ over everyone, I suppose you cannot relate," she said sarcastically.

Looking back toward the steps ascending to the rear of the establishment, Fenris noticed Varric enter, and, catching the dwarf's eye, he stood.

"Come. Varric is ready for us," he said to Merrill.

The petite mage hopped off her stool, taking several missteps, forcing Fenris to right her. He growled low in his chest, a sign of his annoyance for having done so.

"I told you my legs were asleep!" she said in defense.

"I said nothing," he snapped.

"You didn't have to," she replied, following him through the main room towards where Varric awaited them on the steps. "I've learned what your various grunts and looks mean."

Fenris gave her a nasty look and remained silent, alighting the stairs into Varric's private room.

"See? That one says 'shut up, blood mage'," she noted cheerily.

Varric's mood was sour as he greeted the two elves. Aveline and Donnic were already seated at the table; as Merrill entered, Donnic rose to properly welcome her, before excusing himself.

"Donnic's not joining us?" Merrill asked, watching the man leave.

Aveline nodded. "He'll be back after we've all had a chance to talk."

"Oh, good," Merrill answered.

Fenris and Merrill sat down at Varric's table, sitting far apart from one another, and Varric quietly placed the drink order with the barmaid before he too came to sit.

"So, here's the thing, kids," Varric began, looking at each of them. "I've heard a few rumors from the folks who help apostates flee Kirkwall." He paused, knowing how his news would be received. "Apparently a certain mage we believed to be dead isn't as crispy as we'd hoped."

Fenris shot to his feet. "What?" he cried, slamming his fist down on the table.

Aveline nodded. "I've had a few men report the same thing, though the details are very sketchy," she said sadly. "I don't know if it_ is _Anders the rumors are about, but, without a body, we can't just ignore this."

"No, we cannot," Fenris snarled, furious that she hadn't mentioned this before. "Tell me what you have heard!" he demanded.

"We will, but there's something else too," Aveline replied, not surprised to see Fenris' eyes flashing with anger.

Varric stood and began to pace. "I still can't get to the source of the contract on Hawke," he announced. "It's someone big, or at least someone with very deep pockets, because no matter which tree I shake, I can't get any more apples to fall."

"You don't think it's Anders, do you?" Merrill inquired. "I mean, she did stab him in the back; could it be him seeking revenge?"

Aveline laughed. "No, Merrill, it's not Anders," she scoffed. "Based on what we know, of _that_ we are certain," she said, picking up her pint.

"Just what is it again, that we do know?" Merrill asked meekly. Aveline frowned at her. "What? I'm not good with details; that's hardly news to anyone here."

"What we know, Daisy," Varric answered quickly, cutting off Aveline's biting response to the Dalish mage, "is that the contract is for five thousand sovereigns for the death of the Champion of Kirkwall," he stated. "Aveline, however, has learned one small piece of information. It's why I asked you all to drop by," he continued. "Aveline?"

The captain of the guard put down her mug and cleared her throat.

"A contract, when it is written, is accepted only by the heavy weights within the Coterie," she began, sitting forward, placing her forearms onto the tabletop. "Which means that while the bounty and the target are known to anyone asking, the details of the actual contract remain private."

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "But you have learned something of those details?" he rasped.

"I have," Aveline confirmed with a nod. "A courier was killed by bandits on the Wounded Coast, and, fortunately for us, Donnic was leading the patrol that found the man's body. His corpse had already been looted of course, but some of his correspondence was still with him."

The barmaid returned with drinks for Merrill and Fenris, and she quickly handed them out. Varric thanked the woman, and Aveline waited until she had left to continue.

"This courier was en route to deliver a copy of the actual contract on Lorelai to the man in charge of the Coterie outpost in Ostwick," she resumed. "We have a signature of a 'Kevin MacDonald' on the contract for the person who initiated the hit, but…"

"…But we know that the Coterie has several aliases, including the MacDonald one, that allow reluctant clients to use instead of their own names," interrupted Fenris, who then took a long sip of his whiskey. "Just how is this news?" he asked in frustration.

Aveline glowered at the elf. "It's not the bloody aliases I'm talking about; we all heard Varric say there hasn't been anything more found on who took out the contract. My news is the _detail_ used to describe Lorelai!" she explained.

"What would that be?" he asked.

"It states here…" Aveline paused, pulling the document in question from her side pocket.

"…'Lorelai Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and Ferelden native, a resident of Hightown and the lover and partner of the apostate Grey Warden known as Anders, murderer of the Grand Cleric, and inciter of the mages' rebellion within Kirkwall'."

She tossed it toward Fenris.

"It goes on to describe her physical appearance, her home, her usual haunts and even some of us," she finished.

Fenris picked up the paper and read it, his features becoming hardened with each line he read.

"So, based on the language, you feel the hit is because of her assumed compliance in the killing of the Grand Cleric," he stated. "We _knew_ this! It has little relevance to the threat that is still out there, and now you report that the abomination may yet live! Why are we wasting time here, and not hunting him down?" he barked, hostility dripping from each word.

"Why don't we use the contract _against_ Anders?" Merrill pondered, tapping her finger on her chin.

"How so, Daisy?" Varric asked, his confusion apparent.

"Well, forgive me if I've misunderstood, but it sounds like whoever placed the contract did so in response to her association with Anders, yes?" she asked.

They all gestured their agreement.

"So, why not let it get out that Anders isn't dead, or at least that he may be alive?"

Varric began shaking his head, but Merrill pressed on.

"Why not see if we can redirect the attention of whoever wants Lorelai dead to the real person they may want?" she speculated. "If the hit is in retaliation, then why not offer up the real perpetrator of the crime?"

"Varric, there is something wrong with the whiskey," Fenris said, holding his glass up to inspect the contents. "I thought I just heard Merrill suggest something reasonable and possibly even intelligent."

"Thank you, Fenris!" Merrill chirped.

"Not a bad idea," Aveline commented. "Except we have no idea if there is any truth to these sightings. It could be speculation, or hope, as some of the more rebellious mages see Anders as a martyr," she noted. "Still, we could fan the rumor flame, so to speak, and see if it can't help this 'avenger' redirect their bloodlust."

Varric frowned. "I'm not sure," he said, rubbing his gloved fingers along the etching in the stone of this bookcase. "Sebastian and I crafted a very specific story regarding Anders and Lorelai. This may go against his plan, and he's the one doing the safeguarding," he reminded them.

"Well," Aveline began, "what would really need to change? We would just need to make certain that the truth – that Lorelai very quickly killed him, and in front of witnesses – stays on people's tongues, right?"

Varric pursed his lips in thought. "Yeah, but if she killed him, then why is he alive? How do we get around that? People are going to think she acted out the whole thing."

"Only to run off and marry Sebastian?" Aveline ventured. "If Lorelai's whereabouts were also unknown, then alright, I would agree with your point. But she is about to begin a very public life," she argued.

"We don't know if Anders acted entirely alone," Fenris said, his countenance thoughtful. "Perhaps he did have aid, and, if so, perhaps one of his co-conspirators took him to safety."

Varric seemed to consider their words.

"It would seem right, you know," the dwarf mused. "Simple justice, the contract that is on her _because_ of him, ends up killing Anders," he muttered.

"At least it's a kind of 'justice' I could finally agree with," Aveline huffed.

"Okay. All right," Varric said, nodding his head, a smile blooming on his face. "So we take Daisy's idea and run with it. We get it out there that Anders may be alive and on the run, and see if we can get this hit routed in the proper direction."

"Oh my, are we actually going to do something I suggested?" Merrill stammered. "That may be very unwise; you know how my ideas tend to go," she fretted. "I really should just keep my mouth shut."

"I do _not_ like this whiskey, dwarf," Fenris remarked.

Varric chuckled as Merrill sneered at the warrior.

"Don't worry, Merrill," Aveline soothed. "The worst that could happen is that Anders ends up with his own private contract on his life, and, whoever is after Lorelai, _stays_ after Lorelai. In either case, she's safe in Starkhaven with Sebastian," she finished.

"And we will keep it that way," vowed Fenris.

"Damned right, elf," Varric agreed, lifting his mug to take a long drink.

**xXx**

The wind had left their sails the previous morning, causing their journey to stall about a week outside of landing in Wycome.

The stale air, and the inevitable heat that accompanied it, were rapidly becoming uncomfortable. Captain Foster had assured them the phenomenon would be short lived, and he seemed at ease with the situation.

Neither Lorelai nor Sebastian had been able to sleep the night before, the humid and stagnant air in their cabin making rest impossible, and, at some point before the dawn, their conversation had become nothing more than an exchange of ridiculous jokes and teasing.

It had been the first time in a month he had heard her laughter.

Now, as the sun climbed the cloudless sky, he stared at the beams of the ceiling, hot and exhausted. It reminded him of an oven, and they were the dinner being baked.

"Seb?" Lorelai said quietly. "Are you awake?"

He shifted on the chaise, still no more comfortable than the first night he had slept in it, and offered her a smile. "Good morning," he replied.

"That's debatable," she smirked, gesturing to his curled form. "You look like you've been folded in half."

He was on his side, his knees pulled up, as his legs were far too long for the chaise.

"I've all day to work out the kinks, lass," he said amiably.

As she sat up, he noted that her skin was flushed, and her hair was curling from the humidity. He had always found her very attractive, but now, seeing her looking tousled and flushed, he was struck at how greatly he desired her.

She was smiling at him, and his eyes drifted over her lips. He realized with a start that she had said something and was waiting for his answer.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Wha…? Aye, I am, forgive me," he mumbled, trying to redirect his wandering mind. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'why not share the bed?'. It's certainly large enough," she reasoned.

He blushed and cleared his throat.

"Sebastian," she began. "Be sensible, there's no need to for you to suffer over there. Besides, we _are_ married."

His eyes widened. "Lorelai, I would never presume…" he sputtered but she cut him off with a short laugh.

"I didn't mean that," she stated. "I just meant we wouldn't be doing anything untoward," she smiled.

He sat up and planted his feet on the floor, not replying. She flopped back against the pillows, looking listlessly out of the hatch in the ceiling.

"Sebastian?" she asked after a moment. "Your vows…" she began.

When she didn't continue, he reached for his shirt, tugging it on over his head. "What about them?" he prodded, trying to keep his tone light.

"Well, we haven't actually talked about that yet, have we?" she replied. "I didn't ask you how that all works," she said.

"I've no vows any longer," he explained, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "I did not complete my final investiture, and so, while I had intended to become a priest, I was no more bound than a lay brother."

"So you really could just…leave?" she asked in surprise, sitting back up and turning to him.

"No, nothing so simple," he answered. "I had to justify my decision to Mother Helena, and she had to sanction my release."

"I had no idea a Mother had such power," she commented.

Sebastian stood up and approached the bedside. "Normally one wouldn't, but in the absence of a Grand Cleric…" he said slowly, not finishing his sentence.

"Oh, of course," she said meekly.

He frowned, hating seeing her cowed by his comment.

"What gave ye cause to ask? About my vows, I mean?" he asked, hoping to steer her back to her point.

"Uh, well," she looked up at him, blushing slightly. "Sharing the bed, actually."

"Excuse me?" he stammered.

"Well, what I mean is, children. Heirs?"

"Heirs? Whose heirs?" he queried, shifting nervously.

"Yours, Sebastian. Do you expect them from our marriage?" she asked, her gaze locked with his.

He turned away from the bed and began to pace. "You never were one to beat about the bush, were ye?"

"I'm sorry, Seb, I didn't mean to be so horribly blunt," she apologized. "I just…"

"Needed to know," he finished for her. "I understand," he said. "Lorelai, you are already carrying my heir."

"But anything could happen," she countered. "I could lose this baby, or it could be a girl."

"Being a female would not remove her from the line of succession," he explained. "If it's a girl, she will be the Princess Royal, and she will take my place at my passing."

"But it's not yours, Seb," she whispered. "Wouldn't you want a child of your own…of your own blood?"

"It will be mine, blood or no," he stated, his tone unwavering. "Dinnae misunderstand me, Lorelai; I am the father of this baby."

She bit her lip and nodded, looking away. "Your heart is more open to this baby than mine," she muttered. She raised her chin and met his eyes once more. "It still leaves the question of other heirs. Wouldn't it be preferable to…?"

Talking to her about their future physical relationship was not something he was prepared to do, not while he was still unable to fully manage how distracting their newfound intimacy and close proximity was.

"Aye," he answered quickly, his back still to her, wishing to leave the subject. "To answer to your question, aye, I would wish for this child to have siblings."

He waited for her reply, but, hearing none, felt uncertain and turned to her. Her eyes revealed nothing.

"But," he began, looking directly at her, watching her carefully, "only if it's what _you_ want, Lorelai. It's entirely your choice."

She nodded again and shimmied to the end of the bed, sighing.

"Do you think we could go swimming?" she asked. "It's so bloody hot," she complained.

"Excuse me?"

"It's awful just sitting here," she said. "Do you think we might go swimming?"

"We're in the middle of the Waking Sea, Hawke," he answered, thrown by her rapid change of subject.

"Lorelai," she corrected him quickly. "So what? We aren't exactly clipping along, are we? Besides, if you can swim then it doesn't matter how deep it is, does it?"

He shook his head. "Fair point," he agreed. "Alright, I will ask Foster to drop anchor."

"Good idea.. With _my_ luck, we'd get in to the water just in time for some horrible storm to blow through, and we'd be left floating alone, watching our ship disappear," she grumbled.

He stopped and looked at her seriously. "I had hoped you were feeling a wee bit more optimistic about things, Lorelai," he offered.

Her eyes drifted down, and she picked at a small run in the bed sheet. "I am," she replied, forcing a smile for him, waving her hand as if to dismiss his concern. "Don't mind me."

Sebastian nodded and met her false smile with an artificial one of his own.

"I'll go speak with Foster," he stated, and tucked his shirt into his pants, before leaving.

He drew the door closed and took a few short steps down the private hall that led to their quarters, before he paused and knelt down.

"Maker, in the name of your most holy wife, Andraste," he prayed earnestly, "please continue to watch over ma wife. Guide us both, help her to find hope again, and aid me in being your servant, and in being the friend and husband Lorelai needs."

Standing once more, he went off in search of Captain Foster.

**xXx**

Unfortunately for them all, Lorelai's flippant prediction was more accurate that anyone could have guessed.

They did receive the captain's blessing to swim, although he had insisted that a small dingy be lowered for their use, should trouble arise.

The water was blessedly cool, and Lorelai had spent a great deal of the sweltering day floating on her back. Midday, Sebastian had insisted she eat, and, after they had sat on the side deck, the sun drying them, they spoke of insignificant things.

That evening, as the sun set, the wind began blasting from alternating directions, Captain Foster calmly pulled Sebastian aside.

"My experience tells me that we should expect a small clipper, Your Highness," the seasoned sea man had explained. "The way the air is cooling, and the whitecaps in the distance give me reason to prepare the ship."

"Is there anything we should do to make ready?" Sebastian had asked.

"Eli is seeing to your cabin as we speak, ser," he answered. "But it looks to be a very bumpy night. We are quite able to meet the threat, and I have no real concerns, but since you and your wife are aboard I wished to alert you."

"I thank ye, Captain, for your concerns," Sebastian replied. "We shall remain in our cabin until you give us leave to depart," he promised.

The captain bowed and left them, his steady voice calling out directions to his men. Lorelai watched with admiration as crewmen wriggled their ways up the masts and through the rigging, dropping the silk sails.

"Sebastian? What did he say?" Lorelai asked, referring to the conversation she had just observed.

"They believe a storm approaches," he explained. "He wishes us to remain below 'til they sound the all clear," he stated as he reached out for her hand. "Come, wife, let us do as we are told."

They arrived in their cabin to note that Eli had already completed his tasks; a keg of fresh water was in its brace on the floor, along with a crate of fresh dried meats, cheeses, breads and dried fruit for them to eat as they passed the time, and a small supply of reading materials.

The swell had already begun to rise, and Lorelai lurched forward, the uneven motion moving her easily. Sebastian's quick reflexes prevented her from taking a tumble, and he pulled her against him.

"Why don't we get you seated on the bed? At least then the only things to bounce into are pillows," he reasoned, walking with her across the room.

Lightning crackled loudly, and her eyes snapped to the open hatch, only to see it being carefully dropped shut by a crewmember. They listened together as the latch was tightened, and the hatch became secure.

A terrific roll of thunder clapped, and Lorelai leapt up, her eyes wide with fright.

"Lorelai?" Sebastian said slowly.

"Do you remember that night we had to spend on Sundermount?" she asked quickly, her hands lightly slapping her thighs. "We'd had to stay up by those graves?"

He nodded, arching an eyebrow. "Aye."

"And you told Merrill, after she'd wondered if we weren't afraid to sleep there? When all those undead kept popping up?" she continued, her voice jerky.

"Aye."

"You told Merrill that if I wasn't afraid, then there was no way the men with me would admit to being so," she recalled. "You told Merrill I wasn't afraid of anything."

"I did," he agreed, recalling the conversation. "That's been some time, hasn't it? Almost four years gone now," he said casually as he reached out to touch her.

She jumped, but forced a quick smile.

"Well, you were wrong, there is something that I'm afraid of; bloody terrified, if I'm honest."

"Storms?" he inquired as he again reached for her. This time she didn't flinch, and he ran his hand up and down her arm.

"Storms. I hate storms, Seb, I hate them…a lot," she explained nervously. Another smash of thunder burst above and she blanched.

"When I was a girl, in Ferelden? We used to get these awful, horrible rain storms," she said anxiously. "It never bothered me, not really, because my papa would sit up with us and he would show us how he could make lightning, too – 'See? Nothing to fear,' he would say."

"I would imagine it would be rather helpful," Sebastian said slowly, "to have your da be able to mimic what the sky was doing."

She nodded, a small smile touching her lips. "Yes, it made me feel better, seeing that the lightning outside was just a grander version of what my papa was doing in our home," she agreed.

"So why, then, are you frightened?" he asked as a flash of lightning sounded.

She gasped in response and he stepped closer.

"Why? Oh," she replied, her fear flustering her. "When I was about eleven - plenty old enough for a big girl like me not to run and hide from a storm, at least, according to my mother - this massive bolt of lightning struck an outbuilding, and set fire to it."

More swells moved under the ship and they were forced to return to the bed. Lorelai planted herself firmly next to him.

"Anyway, uh, it burned to the ground, killed a few horses and chickens," she resumed. "It killed my cat, who had just delivered her kittens. I can still remember the awful smell of the smoldering wood."

"Ah," he whispered, imagining her as a child, mourning her pet.

"The worst thing was, we all had to go stand outside in this huge storm, because my parents feared it would spread to the house," she continued. "The sky was purple, and flashing, and the thunder deafening, and those horses _kept_ screaming," she elaborated, her voice becoming distant as she focused on the memory. "So now, when it comes to storms, I am no braver than a six year old child facing a switch."

"Your da must have been rather handy with one," he teased gently.

She gave a little laugh. "My mother, actually. She would wield it like a sword," she confessed.

"Is _that_ where you get it from?" he joked. "Tell me what your home in Ferelden was like," he suggested, rising to slowly balance his way over to the crate of food. Quickly, he snatched up a block of cheese and the small hunk of smoked venison.

Lorelai watched him return, making room for him to settle onto the bed with her. They scooted up to the headboard, pushing the pillows high and settling back.

"Ferelden?" she asked as he pulled a small knife from his hip and sliced off a strip of meat, offering it to her.

"Aye, Ferelden," he repeated. "I've nae heard you speak of it in any great detail. I'm curious."

She eyed him skeptically, chewing the meat. "No, you're not," she argued. "You're distracting me."

He looked at her for a quiet moment. "Well, yes, but I've no clue how to make lightning."

Her features softened, and a smile graced her face.

"Have I ever told you about the time Carver tied Bethany to a tree?"

**_Endless gratitude as always to Lisa, the bestest beta this side of the Atlantic - or that side - whichever._**

**_Also, you may have noticed that Sebastian's Scottish brogue is showing a touch. It will continue to do so, and grow a bit when he returns home. I loved the character's accent in game, and wanted to return to that, so a second thanks to Lisa for her personal knowledge and expertise in that area. _**

**_Thank you to each and every one of you for reading, reviewing, alerting, and favoriting this story. I am really grateful to each of you, and hope that I can continue to make this story enjoyable!_**


	9. Wycome

**Wycome**

The winds died down just after dawn, the quiet waking Sebastian from a deep sleep.

He'd held Lorelai through most of the night and had distracted her as much as he could with rambling chatter, learning a great deal about her, and about Ferelden, in the process; much more than he'd anticipated, in fact.

As they'd eventually drifted off to sleep, he'd found himself quietly grateful for the storm.

He awoke on his back, his right arm behind his head, and her back pressed to his side, her head resting against his bicep as she curled into the crook his body had formed. In the first few moments that he was aware of her, his body's desires flashed through his mind, and he snapped his eyes shut against them.

She stirred and rolled over, and his heart began to hammer as her face was now centimeters from his. She was soundly asleep, and she shifted again, seeking a comfortable position. To his distress she drew her knee up until it rested against his belly, and he was certain she was about to discover his embarrassing need.

To Sebastian's disappointment and relief she stilled her movements and remained asleep.

He had been far from chaste before his family had handed him over to the Chantry; he'd fought their decision in the beginning, but meeting Elthina had helped him not only to shed his anger, but to see the error of his lustful ways.

His years of celibacy had been lengthy, but he'd met its challenges, learned much of his own character, and had stayed the course.

When Lorelai had asked him the previous morning about their future together, he'd been flustered to say the least, but, having sworn that he would never lie to her, he had answered her question honestly, though succinctly, and in doing so had kept his promise to her.

What he had not shared was his nearly overwhelming yearning for her.

He wanted to feel her skin, to taste her lips and to touch her; he wanted to bring her to her brink and take her over its edge. He wanted to feel her around him, to sink into her and surrender completely.

But no matter the pull of his desires, he would wait until she was ready and until it was _him_ that she wanted; until he was certain it was _his_ name, and not Anders', that she would scream.

He looked down and watched her steady breathing. It was their beginning now, this life they would make together, and he was determined they would forge a strong future. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes.

Their time would come.

**xXx**

Wycome was an ugly and rambling city, its busy docks and harbor a point of trade for vessels traveling both the Minanter River and Waking Sea.

Lorelai watched from the bow of their ship, finding the procession of watercraft fascinating.

The port served to supply the multitude of ships departing Antiva for points south, as well as being a place of trade.

Many Fereldan merchants did not deal directly with their Orlesian contemporaries, given the strained political climate, but go-betweens could be found within the city and the black market thrived. Slaves and goods bound for the Tevinter Imperium were ferried through this port and several of the more predominant cities of the Free Marches were reachable via the Minanter.

One of the first things Lorelai noticed was the lack of stone construction; each structure was clapboard at best and shanty at worst. The whole of the city was a weathered gray color, having little care for hue or distinction.

Looming towers and pulley systems built of wood dominated the view, and even the largest of buildings and homes appeared to share the same dull, washed-out characteristics, lending the city a thrown-together and temporary appearance; Wycome was clearly a place of constant transition.

She heard Sebastian approach from behind, and turned to greet him.

"Hello," she began. "It's interesting, watching the docks. I have counted no less than forty-seven ships and many fly flags from all over," she said, turning back to view the waters again. "It's funny, though; the city itself doesn't seem to match this grand harbor."

"I recall thinking the same thing the first time I passed through," he agreed. "By all rights, Wycome should be the jewel of the Free Marches, with its lucrative trade and unimpeded access to the four corners. But it's controlled by unions and guilds, making its riches, which should be plentiful, the property of only a very few select people."

He stepped up close behind her, and she heard him sigh. "Lorelai, we will be staying in Wycome for several days. I would like to talk with you about what you should expect."

She studied the flags of a three-mast ship, watching it move slowly forward toward the left side of the harbor.

"Lorelai?"

Quickly, she swung around and nodded, a smile on her lips. "Forgive me, it's just such a wonderful distraction. I've never seen anything like it," she said, gesturing to the harbor.

He eyed her with mirth. "You do have the look of a curious child," he noted and reached out, taking her hand in his. "Come, why don't we go below and talk?" he asked softly.

She nodded and allowed him to lead her back to their cabin.

It had been four days since the clipper had roared over them, the winds that had followed allowing Captain Foster to make up for lost time. Spending the night with Sebastian, talking to him of her youth, her misadventures and her family, had been incredibly cathartic, and her spirit had rallied as a result.

Sebastian opened their cabin door and stepped in, waiting for her to pass before he closed the door behind them. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the chaise.

"Once we dock, we will be staying in the city until our barge is ready for departure," Sebastian began. He moved to the sideboard and poured them each a small goblet of wine, walking over to hand hers to her.

"Thank you."

He nodded and took a sip before he continued. "I wanted to explain that from this point forward, things will be different for us; at least in public."

Lorelai nodded slowly, waiting for him to explain.

"Our union cannot be questioned, and we must appear to be a loving, newlywed couple," he resumed. "You're royalty now. In every aspect, we will be watched, and our behavior and actions scrutinized and gossiped about." He paused and cleared his throat. "Our time to convince people of our sincere feelings will be remarkably short."

"Is this the part where you tell me that we should trust no one?" she asked, trying not to sound as sad as the idea made her feel.

"Lorelai," he began softly, his brogue caressing the 'L's in her name. "A prince is always in public; we draw the attention of every eye, regardless of our desire not to do so."

She nodded. "Not to mention we must begin erasing Anders from my past," she said weakly.

He was spurned forward by the hurt in her voice, moving to sit next to her. "No, Lorelai, we must begin laying the groundwork for _our_ future," he said firmly. "Please do not think I wish to change you."

She turned to him and shook her head. "Isn't that the whole point? To…to make all this _mess_ disappear?" she challenged.

"The point is to protect you from what he did, not to…damn it, woman," he growled in frustration and came to his feet.

"Sebastian," she sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound so…pathetic. To be honest, I'm beginning to feel excited about where we shall go from here, truly!" she defended when she saw he was unconvinced. "I am. But part of me is not keen on leaving the ship. I feel safe here with you," she explained.

She looked up and shrugged sheepishly. "I've never been very good at keeping my thoughts to myself. I'm certain to make a blunder of all the work you've done."

"I'm not going anywhere, we're a team now, you and I," he reminded her gently. "So what pitfalls you don't see, I will, and vice versa."

She nodded and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and placed her chin in her palm. "Then I've nothing to worry about," she agreed, looking up at him. She watched as his vivid blue eyes crinkled in their corners, the contrast of their bright color so striking against his tanned skin.

She had noticed so many new things about him in the time they'd had together aboard the ship.

He was a large man, but quiet; he didn't even snore. He had great poise and was always polite and calm; this was something she knew of course, but what she hadn't known was how deliberate he could be about it. How he felt, she now knew, was only truly shown in his eyes, and, over the last few days, she had learned to watch them much more closely.

"So what comes next?" she asked, watching his expression turn serious as he came back to sit on the chaise.

"What comes next is trust," he began, his eyes meeting hers. "From this point forward we are on display, darlin', and, no matter what comes, you need to know that I am yours. My commitment to you is not half-hearted," he said. "I've never hidden my past from you, but you need to be aware that there will be some who may seek to maneuver you politically by using it. I left Starkhaven with quite the reputation, and I know it goes against our success here."

"Seb, you don't owe me any explanations, I…"

"Lorelai, we're heading into a court that thrives on lies, intrigue and deception. Starkhaven is by far the wealthiest city-state in the Marches," he explained, his tone severe. "I cannot be more direct than to say that we will be amongst some of the least moral people you'll ever know."

She blinked as his words settled in, and she felt a tiny seed of worry take root. "I remember once that you said the politics reminded you of a pit of…"

"Vipers, Lorelai, and I did not exaggerate," he confirmed. "No matter what happens, you and I must never lose sight of each other. I know you; I know you are honest and good, and that you wish to see others treated well and with respect. I will count on that, and you must count on who I am, the man you've come to know, not the man I was: the man they will all scurry to tell you about."

She arched an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. "Wow, you must have been quite the scamp," she teased.

He blushed and lowered his head slightly.

Her eyes grew wide and she guffawed. "Sebastian Vael! Just what exactly _did_ you get up to?" she asked, laughing at his reddened cheeks.

He turned to face her, and, seeing her smile, reciprocated with one of his own. "Plenty, I am afraid," he confessed, but supplied no further answer.

"Oh, you're not getting off that lightly," she admonished, playfully shoving her shoulder against his. His laugh rumbled through his chest, and she realized how much she liked the sound of it. "Let me guess, you got caught kissing the scullery maid?"

He shook his head, a wide grin on his face. "Lorelai, I got caught kissing her when I was but nine; I had bedded her by the time I was fourteen," he stated and waited for her reaction.

"You…fourteen?" she stammered and then burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Maker, forgive me, I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh," she said between giggles. "Are you telling me that you were free with the ladies?" she asked in disbelief.

"Is that so very hard to imagine?" he queried, his eyes sparkling with his smile. "It's all well behind me, darlin'; you've naught to worry about," he said softly.

Her laughter subsiding, she studied him for a brief moment, taking in his warm skin, beautiful eyes, and easy manner. He was handsome and charming, and she could quite clearly see how he could have met his youthful 'needs' with little trouble.

"No," she whispered. "It's not very hard to imagine a woman wanting you."

His smiled faltered, his eyes darkening as her confession settled between them, and she recognized the implication of her words.

She rushed to return them to his original point.

"So you feel that people will be attempting to pit us against one another?" she prompted as she stood and began to pace the room.

He watched her carefully before he answered. "It's been a very long time since I've lived there, but I've attempted to stay abreast of the various camps and factions within the court," he explained. "I do not feel there is any loyalty to Goran, and he has mishandled a great deal of trade with the Antivans as well as implemented a set of new tariffs that is very unpopular. If he doesn't acknowledge my direct claim to the throne," he continued, "then I do not believe it will be difficult to force him out through other means."

"So, beware of the vipers, but you shall use them if need be?"

He sighed heavily. "I do not wish to be a hypocrite. I hope to rule my lands through honest and direct dealings," he defended. "But I also recognize that I may have to play along with the game in order to obtain the power I will need to effect change, and, rest assured, Lorelai, I _will_ effect it."

"Hence your statement that I must trust in you, in who you are," she said, to which he nodded his agreement.

"Who we are together, in this room," he began, coming to his feet and crossing over to her. He reached out and hesitantly touched her cheek before tucking a lock of her hair, curling it behind her ear. "Who we are to one another," he whispered, his eyes searching hers, "this is real. Our friendship and trust is real, as will be what comes of it. This is ours and we must not let them manipulate it."

She nodded mutely, her heart skipping slightly at his nearness; she had never before noticed how dark his stubble was.

"I understand," she replied softly, hesitantly stepping against him.

They both seemed to become aware of their closeness at the same moment, and each backed away a few steps, neither able to meet the other's eyes.

Lorelai forced a laugh as her eyes darted around the room. "Oh! A spying glass!" she exclaimed, acting as if she had not noticed the thing in the last three weeks, or seen him using it. "I think I shall see if I can learn more of what they do on the docks!" she said with false excitement, and, snatching the glass up, hurried from the room.

Once out in the hallway, she paused and leaned against the wall, looking back at the closed door.

His warnings about Starkhaven and the underhanded ways of its courtiers would warrant her full attention, as would ensuring she did her share of developing their story. She had always been too free with her opinions, but her status as Champion had always made it very difficult for any one she alienated to do her damage.

She grimaced at the thought of the type of intrigue Sebastian had described, but, as it appeared they would soon be wading neck deep into the politics of Starkhaven, she knew it would be best to accept his knowledgeable counsel.

She glanced down at the spyglass in her hand. The tension they had just shared was still buzzing through her system, and her emotions churned within her as a result.

_Had he felt it too?_ she wondered.

She drew a steadying breath, her mind set.

She would do all that she could to be prepared for Starkhaven, to be the best helpmate to him that she could. After everything he had done for her, and what he would continue to do for her and for her child, she was determined to demonstrate her own savvy political skills to help him meet his goals.

Allowing herself to become distracted by the scent of his clean shirts and the colour of his eyes would do little to ensure their success.

"Ships, Lorelai," she muttered, willing her self-control to engage. "Go watch the ships."

**xXx**

Captain Foster waited at the foot of the gangplank, and he bowed deeply as Sebastian stepped onto the dock. Turning, Sebastian aided Lorelai in the last few steps, and pulled her against his side.

"Captain, we are most grateful for your generous hospitality and your excellent service," Sebastian announced. "We could not have asked for a finer crew, or a more pleasant journey," he complimented.

"Yes, thank you Captain," Lorelai agreed. "It was a wonderful respite."

"I regret that the _Anderson Elizabeth_ runs too deep for us to take you onto Starkhaven, Your Highnesses," the man replied regretfully. "But I do hope that you will consider joining us again, should the need to traverse deeper waters arise."

"Indeed we shall," Sebastian agreed.

"I've taken the liberty of speaking with three capable and reputable river captains," Foster continued. "They will seek your audience tomorrow morning at your inn. Each has a solid reputation and crew."

Sebastian smiled. "We are in your debt, Captain," he stated. "Rest assured that should the royal family of Starkhaven have need to journey abroad, you will be our first choice."

"I am humbled, ser," Foster replied with a second bow. Sebastian nodded his head and the man stood once more. "Your personal items will be delivered to the Keeper's Inn within a few hours. Maker Bless you and your family," he said in salutation before he re-boarded his ship.

Sebastian clasped Lorelai's hand tightly into his own, and he slowly led her from the docks and up to street level.

"Seb," she asked, once they were walking side by side. "I realize I am unschooled in royal protocol, but if one ruler is within the borders of another's lands, should he not make his presence known?"

Sebastian smiled at her, nodding his head. "You are not unschooled, Lorelai," he noted. "In fact, you are quite correct. But Wycome doesn't have a ruler, it has a faction of guilds, and is overseen by a council. Considering our expected time here is very short, I did not wish to waste everyone's time," he explained.

They walked together, she on his arm, for a short distance, Lorelai happily absorbing the activity around her. He watched her from the corner of his eye, quietly pleased at her newfound enthusiasm.

With little difficulty, they located the inn they were to stay at: Keeper's Inn. Sebastian opened the small door and led her inside, the close quarters dimly lit. It was a welcoming place, and well appointed, though not as spacious as some inns or boarding houses she had seen in the past.

She noticed that he checked them in as simply Sebastian and Lorelai Vael, and did not make any effort to draw attention to their name, though she noted that the innkeeper's eyebrow arched as he read their details. The older man looked them both up and down, before seeming to concede his unspoken question about the validity of the entry.

"Excuse me, please," the man requested and stepped back behind a curtain.

Almost immediately, a portly, finely-dressed man emerged, an eager grin on his mottled face. "Welcome! I am Mr. Higgins, the owner of the Keeper's Inn!" he announced.

"How do you do?" Sebastian inquired, his tone one new to Lorelai.

"Very well, you are most gracious. Shall I show you to the suite now, Your Highness?" he inquired with a flourish, gesturing toward the narrow staircase off of the main room.

Sebastian looked back at Lorelai and smirked. "Yes, please," he answered, not bothering to turn back around to the man when he answered. "_See_?" he mouthed before turning to follow the owner.

Mr. Higgins led them up two flights of stairs and to the rear of the building, opening a door to an elegant and large room. The massive bed was placed on a tall dais, and the opposite wall was a bank of windows, overlooking the harbor. A large desk sat in the center of the room, and a series of grouped chairs were arranged under the windows. A privacy screen hid the bath.

Sebastian crossed to the middle of the room, his eyes running over its interior.

"This will suffice," he stated imperiously. "We expect our baggage to arrive within the next few hours; please see that it is received, and the handlers tipped well."

"Indeed, it shall be done, Your Highness," the owner promised, bowing his head slightly.

"My wife and I will only be staying a short time, ser," Sebastian continued. "We would welcome your discretion; our peace is very important to us," he said pointedly.

Again, the owner bowed his head. "I understand; no one shall know of your arrival," he assured them.

"Good. We look forward to our stay, ser," Sebastian said. "You may go," he said in dismissal, and the man bowed almost to the floor before quietly and quickly leaving the room.

Lorelai smiled broadly at Sebastian. "I am finally meeting the Prince of Starkhaven, I see," she teased. "This will suffice," she repeated, her voice deep, mimicking his tone.

Sebastian laughed. "You saw the innkeeper's reaction," he said, referring to the signature book. "They were expecting royalty, so I gave it to him," he explained. "I warned you, darlin', people will see the name Vael and react to it, positively or negatively."

She nodded. "This would be the public part?"

"Yes," he answered. "It's not easy, Lorelai, but it will become habit soon enough. You will learn to read people's reaction to you, and then you will know how to behave around them," he said with a sigh.

"We're actors, aren't we?" she asked quietly, her understanding beginning to form. "And he," she continued, referring to the owner, "is off to tell everyone he can that the Prince of Starkhaven is staying at his inn."

He smirked. "More than likely," he agreed. "And he will benefit from curious locals drinking more in his common room to catch a glimpse, and travelers wishing to stay where a Prince has," he stated. "We will need to be aware of everyone, even the chambermaid. If you're unsure, I can deal with most folk."

She shook her head then raised her hand, removing the pins holding her long hair in place. He watched as it tumbled loose.

"It's just so…odd," she commented. "It's as if you have to be two different people," she considered. "The duplicity must be…"

"…Exhausting," he interrupted. "Yes. It can be, but I promise you, over time it will take less effort. Can you begin to see the need for my warnings on the boat yesterday?"

"I can," she confessed. She looked at him, worry evident in her eyes. "I'm really going to need you, Seb," she said softly. "I had hoped to be readily able to help you with the powers that be, but if that…" she paused, pointing at the back of the door, "…is what the average person does at the very idea of who you are…"

"Correction, Lorelai," he interrupted again. "Who _we_ are."

"We," she muttered, and then ran her fingers through her hair. "Seb," she began nervously, "You know I'm awful at minding my tongue! What in the Maker's name were you thinking?" she asked, real panic rising in her voice.

He smiled at her and approached. "You will do well, Lorelai, I know you will. Just follow my lead," he said reassuringly. "I will not let anyone…"

A thunderous knock sounded on their door, breaking off Sebastian's words.

"Vael? Are y'in there?" called a deep voice, and Sebastian laughed, hurrying over to open the door.

A remarkably tall man pushed his way into the room, an enormous grin on his face. He was dark haired, with bright green eyes that flashed with happiness. He was muscular, but not overly so, and he was very, very handsome.

He wrapped Sebastian, who himself was a tall man, into a bear hug, lifting him off the ground.

"By the Maker, Cameron!" Sebastian cried out, slapping the other man on his back.

"Sebastian! It's barry to see you!" the man named Cameron announced as he dropped Sebastian back onto his feet. "You're a lucky bugger that your man Varric was able to get his messages to me before we left for Starkhaven! Maker's balls, but I was chuffed to learn you're taking back what's yours!"

Lorelai smiled at the man, trying to smother her laughter. Whoever he was, she liked him already.

"Lorelai, this obnoxious tree impersonating a man, is a very old and close friend of mine, Cameron Avery, Baron of Tisdale," Sebastian explained, a true grin on his face. "Cameron, this is my wife, Lorelai Vael."

Cameron's smile remained in place, but his demeanor became much more subdued. "It is an honor, Your Highness," he said elegantly, and he lifted her hand to his lips, where he chastely placed a warm kiss, his eyes locked with hers. "I knew that only a bonny lass such as yourself could have lured Sebastian from his work with the Chantry, and I see I was right," he purred, before flashing her the most devilishly handsome smile she'd ever seen.

"Bugger off, Cam," Sebastian said good-naturedly. "She's not falling for your charms."

"I might be," Lorelai teased, arching an eyebrow as she smiled at Sebastian.

"Get out, Avery!" Sebastian ordered, before both men laughed together.

"Baron of Tisdale?" Lorelai queried.

"Aye, it's a minor, nothing sort of title," Cameron replied. "My great-grandfather helped _his_ great-grandfather with a bit of rebel trouble, and earned a little estate and fancy title as a reward. Sebastian and I shared a tutor for some time, as our mothers were close friends."

"So you've known each other for that long? It's very good of you to come and greet him," Lorelai said kindly.

"Och, nonsense," Cameron argued. "He needs someone he can trust getting him the inside scoop on what's been happening at court," he countered with a laugh. "But I'm honored to do it, and, if I may be serious for a moment," he continued, his eyes moving back to Sebastian. "It will be an honor to serve a worthy prince, and I am most eager to help you in any way that I can, Sebastian."

"Thank you, Cameron, you humble me," Sebastian said, his voice deep with emotion. He cleared his throat. "We've enough time for all that as we travel to Starkhaven. Where's Marie?" he inquired.

"Marie?" Lorelai asked.

"My wee wife," Cameron said before turning to Sebastian. "I've told you she's expecting again?"

"Again? That makes, what, four?" Sebastian noted and Cameron nodded. "Maker be praised, that's a blessing on your house. You're a lucky man, Cameron."

"I'm a randy auld bastard with an amazin' wife," Cameron quipped, and then flushed, recalling Lorelai's presence. "Och, forgive me, Your Highness."

"It's Lorelai, please," she said quickly. "Do not adhere to any sort of protocol, whatever, with me. I'm very new to this whole royal business anyway," she confessed. "Will I be able to meet this amazing wife of yours?"

"You will!" Cameron said with enthusiasm. "Her family's here in Wycome, and we visit a few months each year, which is how that mucker Varric was able to get us notice of your arrival so quickly. You left Kirkwall, what, about three weeks ago?" he queried.

"Just about," Sebastian answered. "We've only just arrived."

"Well, Marie has demanded that I invite you and your bonny bride to her father's estate this evening for dinner," Cameron informed them. "If you'd like, we could go now, otherwise, I shall have a driver sent around at say, four o'clock?"

"Four o'clock sounds perfect," Sebastian agreed. "We've not yet received our baggage, and I wish to take Lorelai for a bit of shopping."

"You do?" she asked in surprise.

"I do."

"Right then, four o'clock it is!" Cameron confirmed and bowed to Lorelai before again clapping Sebastian heartily on the back. "I am so looking forward to this! Starkhaven needs a true Vael in its throne; Goran's such a wee bampot and just hasn't the stomach!"

"Neither have I, Cam," Sebastian replied. "I intend to set a different standard," he said seriously.

"Well, perhaps you've not the stomach, but you've never lacked for balls, pal," Cameron noted. "Regardless, you can count on Marie and I, come what may."

Sebastian's eyes clouded with emotion. "I am very grateful, Cameron," he said solemnly.

Cameron nodded, his smile faltering. "'Til four o'clock!" he said, and departed the room.

Lorelai giggled as Sebastian closed to door. "Seb, he is quite the character!"

Sebastian chuckled. "Cam's a good sort, and he's changed very little since I've known him," he said. "Although he's mad about Marie; in that regard he is quite reformed," he conceded.

"How so? He's very charming, was he handy with the ladies as well?"

"You could say that," he answered. "Lorelai, I'm ashamed to admit it, but together, Cam and I chased a great deal of skirt, and what we didn't catch we wooed shamelessly," he confessed, shrugging.

Lorelai stared at him. "Ah, so he was your partner in crime, then?" she smiled as Sebastian nodded sheepishly.

"He's a good man," he said.

"He's a rascal," she countered.

"That he is, but as I said, he's a reformed rascal, and he's completely dedicated to Marie," he explained. "Women tend to throw themselves at Cameron; he's good looking, rich, and he's a charmer. Marie's a lovely lass; she's got Cameron by the short hairs, and I've never seen him happier."

"After your stories about the scullery maid and meeting him," she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, "I am realizing how little of your past you've shared with me. And just what in the Maker's name does bampot mean? Does everyone in Starkhaven talk like that?"

He laughed heartily. "It means, idiot, darlin', and yes, I'm afraid so. My accent is nearly gone; it's been so long since I was back. There are some folks who even _I_ cannot understand."

"So you will be providing me with a royal translator, yes?" she teased.

He chuckled. "I'll do my best to arrange it," he laughed.

"Have you met her?"

"Who? Marie? Aye, I have," he answered. "They were engaged to marry when my family was murdered. I had returned briefly to make their funeral arrangements, and was fortunate enough to meet her. I think you will like her a great deal," he said, his tone hopeful.

Lorelai nodded and looked down at the floor. "Will you tell Cameron?" she asked hesitantly, referring to the reason for their marriage.

"Will I tell them that you're pregnant with my child?" he asked, but did not wait for her answer. "I will, and am proud to do so."

Her eyes darted to his. "Seb," she began, but bit her lip, not finishing her thought.

"Lorelai, if a reason arises for Cameron to know more, then, and only then, will I reveal more," he stated. "It does us no good to share what we cannot risk being learned by others."

"But he's your friend, Sebastian, I can see you trust him," she argued.

"And you're my wife, my loyalty is to you, first and foremost. I do not think Cam would betray me," he explained. "But there is no point in risking someone learning too much. I cannot protect you and the wee one if I don't control that information."

"All right, Seb," she agreed. "Thank you."

He smiled at her and winked. "Darlin', let us find a dressmaker," he said. "As I recall, Merrill burned most of your belongings, and I believe that you could use some new clothes as a result," he stated, offering his arm.

She smiled softly and placed her hand on his forearm. "I confess I didn't see how bad the front of the home was. Did she truly burn most of it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he confirmed. "Nary was a crate left un-scorched. But she did end the fighting in a most expeditious way," he offered in consolation.

"I suppose there's that, then," she agreed. She looked down at the dress she was wearing. "It's a fine gown, but yes, I think if I'm to look the part of Princess of Starkhaven, then I expect I will need to have more than just the one."

"Come on then, lass, let us see to it. We've only a few hours to return before Cam sends their driver," he reminded her.

**xXx**

Three hurried hours later, Sebastian and Lorelai returned to their suite at the Keeper's Inn.

Sebastian had found a dressmaker who was aware of the latest fashions being worn at the court in Starkhaven, and the woman had measured Lorelai for an order of eight dresses, two of which were to be ready within the next three days. The others would be sent onto Starkhaven as soon as they were complete.

They'd found a hosiery merchant, who was able to provide them both with a variety of smallclothes, and was willing to send an order of stockings to the dressmaker, the trimmings to be matched to Lorelai's new dresses.

A cobbler had also been found, and Sebastian had purchased a glossy pair of black knee-high riding boots. He was also successful in obtaining several shirts and three pairs of breeches.

"I so rarely saw you in anything else but your armor," Lorelai commented as he laid out his new items on the bed. "I had to look at you twice, just to make sure it was you, once we were on board the _Anderson Elizabeth_, but I must confess, Sebastian, you clean up rather well," she complimented.

He chuckled and flashed her a cheeky grin. "So long as you think so, lass, then I am happy."

She smirked. "Who knew you were such a flirt?" she teased.

She walked across the room and slipped behind the privacy screen, and each used the space to quietly change for dinner.

The dressmaker had had a beautiful aqua blue gown, trimmed with piping of gold, nearly ready for another customer who closely matched Lorelai's measurements. Smelling coin and eager to please a Vael, the woman had hastened to alter the gown to fit Lorelai.

Lorelai tied the laces of the skirts to the underside of the bodice, and wondered what the woman who had ordered the gown would have to say to the dressmaker.

As she finished dressing, she gathered the skirts in her hands and shook out the last of the wrinkles, and looked at her reflection in the tall mirror mounted on the back of the privacy screen.

"Well, at least she has good taste," she mumbled, thinking of the other woman.

A knock was heard at the door, and Lorelai stepped out as Sebastian answered it. With a brief word, he shut the door and turned to her, his eyes roaming over her.

"You are extraordinary," he breathed, causing her to smile with glee.

He, too, looked very fine. His breeches were snug; not that she noticed, or rather, she would be _trying_ not notice. His shirt was a good fit, and his boots were gleaming.

"You look rather dashing yourself," she complimented sincerely.

His gaze held her for a moment before he seemed to remember what the knock at the door had been about.

"Cam's driver is here for us, darlin'," he advised her. "Are you ready?"

She quickly crossed the room and checked her hair, before stepping into the slippers that were matched to the dress.

"Now I am," she announced arriving by his side.

"Then let us be off, wife," he said, escorting her out.

_**Thank you, Lisa. It was an honour having dinner with you! (See? I even put in that useless extra u! Ha!)**_

_**Thank you for each review, alert, favorite and PM. It's a thrill to me, to read what you think of Lorelai and Sebastian's story, and I am very grateful to each of you.**_


	10. Rumors, Regrets and Shabby Half Palaces

**Rumors, Regrets, and Shabby Half-Palaces**

He stared at the sunrise, disappointed to greet another dawn.

He had not moved from this place, having watched the sun go down and the half-moon rise as he leaned against a large boulder. Sleep had eluded him but he had grown accustomed to this and did not lament it. He didn't _want_ to sleep, nor did he want to dream.

In his dreams she was waiting for him, smiling, teasing.

If he closed his eyes for too long, he could hear her voice, and, if he slept, he heard her moans in his ear, and would then awaken to the coldness of the ground beneath him, rather than her soft, gentle, heat.

With a sigh, he rested his head back against the boulder, his eyes glazing over, exhaustion, regrets, and anger keeping him from seeing hope in the new day.

He'd not eaten in four days; these hills were windblown and barren save the grass, but hunger did not distract him from his disgust. He was learning to appreciate the cramps, each twinge of stabbing pain a reminder of his misdeeds.

His mind wandered, and he found himself counting the number of days since he'd left her: twenty-two as of this morning.

His child's heart was beating now, he knew. He wondered if she had realized she was pregnant yet, wondered whether she would find peace or agony in the knowledge, and if she would ever forgive him.

Leaving his key in her bedroom was an action he regretted deeply, and he cursed himself for his selfishness. He'd had no right to leave her such a clue, and his mistake only added to his self-loathing.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered, closing his eyes as his chin quivered.

From a distance, he heard a young cow-herd calling out, and his eyes snapped back open. Knowing his hiding place amongst these open pastures would soon be discovered, he gathered his satchel as he stood to go.

**xXx**

Their carriage, sent for them by Baron Tisdale, sailed through the magnificent gate of the rambling estate of Marie Avery's family, the Smythefields.

They had traveled a fair distance, leaving the city of Wycome behind them as they had entered the countryside, traveling up a wide lane. They'd passed many high walls and gates along their journey, and Sebastian had explained that many of the more wealthy merchants in Wycome did not live within the city itself, but in elaborate country houses instead.

"Wycome is not the comeliest of cities, as you've noted," Sebastian had explained. "Most who can, choose to live outside of it. Only the working class and less-connected merchants reside in Wycome."

"That explains quite a lot, actually," she had replied. "If those with influence resided in town, it would be a much finer looking city, wouldn't it?"

They had ridden the rest of the way in quiet contemplation.

As they entered the Smythefield property, Lorelai gaped at the majestic proportions of the home, its ornately laid-out grounds a wonderment in their own right. "Maker, this place is a palace!"

Sebastian looked out of the window and smiled. "It's a beautiful home, though not a palace; it's less than half the size of the palace in Starkhaven," he commented, his eyes roaming as he took in the view.

Lorelai sat back. "Half?" she repeated.

He met her stunned look with his usual steady gaze. "Aye, half."

She blinked rapidly, and he smiled sheepishly. "It will be fine, Lorelai," he said in a reassuring tone. "Let me tell you a bit about the Smythefields before we go in."

"Yes, please do," she said softly, still staggered by the idea of what Starkhaven would be like.

"Marie's father runs one of the four merchant's guilds in Wycome, and has done so for at least the last thirty years," he began. "He married the daughter of a Fereldan bann, and they had seven children; six boys and one girl…"

"…That would be Marie, I take it?" she guessed.

"The one and the same," he answered with a smile. "Her father's guild is a large union of commodity traders, so they oversee and take a cut off the import or trade of any item deemed to be foodstuffs, building materials, or raw goods, such as granite, timber, or marble."

Lorelai's eyes widened at this information. "That covers a great deal of the contents of the average ship's hull, does it not?" she asked.

"It does."

"Explains the shabby half-palace," she muttered. "So, she's the only daughter of a wealthy merchant and a minor Fereldan noble's daughter with six brothers?"

"Six _boisterous_ brothers," he elaborated. "There's a reason she's so capable at handling a man such as Cameron: she's direct, unafraid of blood, and very pretty. She can also, according to Cam, climb a tree, shoot an arrow to the bull's eye, and do so all whilst bouncing one of their three lasses on her knee and sewing his shirts," he finished with a grin.

She snorted. "Well that's not intimidating in the _least_," she said, her tone ripe with sarcasm.

"Considering I've seen you mow flat a slew of slave traders, lecture Merrill about demons as you save a few random orphans from Darktown, just before killing the biggest Qunari anyone, anywhere, has ever seen, I would expect it's a possibility that Marie _may_ be saying the exact same thing to Cam," he commented casually.

Lorelai arched an eyebrow. "Yes, well…her house is still bigger than mine."

Sebastian flopped back against the plush seat, dropping his hands into his lap in defeat. "Maker help me understand this woman!"

She bit her lip and laughed softly.

"Three daughters, you said?" she asked, referring to Cameron and Marie's children.

He nodded in the affirmative. "If _that's_ not testament to the Maker's fine sense of humor, I don't know what is," he quipped, his eyes twinkling.

A few minutes later, the carriage arrived at the front of the home, large marble arches covering the driveway. A footman hurried out and made ready before opening the carriage door.

Sebastian alighted first, and then turned to offer his hand to Lorelai. As her slipper-clad toes touched the ground, she saw Baron Tisdale smiling at them from the top of a short flight of wide marble steps which led to the grand front doors.

"There's a man!" Cameron cried out in greeting, hopping down the stairs with lithe grace. "Was the ride out any trouble?" he asked as he offered his hand to Sebastian, who shook it in greeting.

"Not at all, and thank you for sending your carriage," Sebastian replied.

"Och, think nothing of it," Cameron responded, wiggling his eyebrows. "It's Kenneth's staff I'm taking advantage of; thank him!" he said with a laugh, referring to his father-in-law.

The tall man flashed his eyes to Lorelai, and a look of manly appreciation came over his features. "Maker, now aren't you something to look at," he breathed, reaching out to take her hand to his lips.

"Good afternoon, Cameron," Lorelai replied, blushing slightly.

"Cam, you've kissed her once today already; if you wish your lips cut off, do so again," Sebastian threatened from beside her, a hint of seriousness hidden well beneath his joking tone.

Cam arched an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving Lorelai's, and his lips hovering a few inches above her waiting hand.

"Hands off, Cam; I like your lips exactly where they are!" called a statuesque woman from the top of the steps. Lorelai looked over Cameron's shoulder to admire the woman who smiled at them all.

Her hair was so black that in the sunlight it appeared almost blue. She was very fair, her features fine and well defined, and she was blessed with the warmest brown eyes Lorelai had ever seen.

"Marie, my beauty, you remember Sebastian, don't you?" Cameron asked smoothly. He placed a quick kiss to the top of Lorelai's hand and gave her a cheeky wink before spinning around and looking up at his wife.

Marie glided down the stairs, a genuine smile on her face. "Welcome, Your Highness," she said as she reached the bottom and curtseyed.

"Lady Tisdale, it is an honor to be with you once more," Sebastian replied. "May I present my wife, Lorelai Vael, Princess of Starkhaven?"

Marie turned to Lorelai and dropped into a second curtsey. "It is a privilege to meet you, Your Highness, and I welcome you to my father's home," she said warmly.

Lorelai smiled. "Thank you very much. It is wonderful to meet you; I've heard so many kind things, and look forward to knowing you better."

Marie rose from her curtsey and returned Lorelai's smile. "I could say the same, Your Highness."

"Well, now that we've gotten all that courteous tripe out of the way," Cameron announced, "Lorelai, would you like to come inside? Marie's father is traveling now, and she's had the staff all in a tizzy, preparing for _royalty,_" he stated, the last word drawn out.

Marie's jaw worked and her eyes flashed a warning to her husband. "Please forgive my husband's forwardness," she said to Lorelai. "He's from a home of little upbringing."

"Och, ye wee harpy!" Cameron chuckled.

Lorelai giggled, and a large grin bloomed on Sebastian's handsome face. "Please Marie, neither Lorelai nor I wish to have any formality between us," Sebastian offered.

"Yes, please, I would be very happy if you would call me Lorelai," she said quickly, reinforcing Sebastian's request.

"You know good and well I had to wait for you to tell me so," Marie said to Sebastian, her eyes meeting Lorelai's. "Please, call me Marie," she said happily, smiling at them all.

"Please call me Cameron, Seb," the tall man joked, again extending his hand to Sebastian.

"That's _Your Highness_ to you," Sebastian replied with a smirk.

"Bloody hell, man, the power's gone to your head already!" Cameron complained with a laugh. "Come inside then, _Your_ _Highness_, and let's get you a wee snifter of brandy!"

Sebastian and Cameron began walking up the steps together, leaving their wives to trail slowly behind them.

"So, if I may, who keeps you busier? Your husband or your children?" Lorelai asked with a shy smile.

Marie giggled. "That's a trick question, isn't it?"

"I expect it is," Lorelai answered with a laugh. "Thank you for your invitation."

"Ha! We could hardly contain ourselves; we were so excited to receive that missive from Sebastian's man. May I offer my congratulations on your marriage?" Marie began, stopping at the elaborate entrance to the front of the home, gesturing for Lorelai to follow her inside.

"Thank you."

"I confess I was very surprised to learn of it; Cameron had the impression that Sebastian was firmly set on the Chantry life," she continued.

The entry hall of the house was majestic. The floors, columns, and arched ceiling were of shining white marble, and the walls in light hues of soft blue, adorned with several pieces of ornately-framed artwork. Gilt benches upholstered in white silk and potted palms further added to the grandeur. A series of gold-framed glass doors lined the walls adjacent to the entrance, and above, a massive crystal chandelier was suspended from a glass dome.

"Your home is remarkable," Lorelai said sincerely, stopping briefly to admire the elegant details.

"Thank you, my mother designed it."

"She is a talented architect."

"Yes, she was indeed," Marie replied and smiled gently. "I expect the boys have gone off to my father's study; would you like to see the gardens?

"Yes, please," Lorelai agreed and followed Marie through a set of doors, and down a wide hallway.

They entered a small salon and proceeded onto the solarium before exiting to a small courtyard garden.

Lorelai's eyes were met with true beauty and her senses rejoiced. "Oh my," she whispered.

"It's magnificent isn't it?" Marie commented. "I would love to accomplish something even a quarter as splendid as this at home, but I'm yet to find a local gardener with the imagination I'm looking for."

Lorelai started down the pebbled path, her eyes drinking in the delicate details around her.

"The gardens at the palace are beyond compare, if I may say so," Marie continued. "That's where all the talent flocks to, the gardens there. You would need to ask Sebastian, but I believe there are four private family gardens and an enormous orchard," she explained from behind Lorelai.

"That will be a treat indeed," Lorelai admitted. "My mother was an avid gardener; our estate in Kirkwall had a single garden, though quite large," she said. "This would have astounded her. It's breathtaking."

"Cameron said you hail from Kirkwall, but your accent is Fereldan," Marie commented.

"You are correct; I was born and raised in Lothering," Lorelai explained. "Our family left during the Blight; my mother was an Amell."

"Oh," Marie said. "That's a very old family, well respected. It's fortunate that you had family to go to," she noted. "So many refuges apparently did not."

"You'd think so," Lorelai said with a small smile. "But that's another story."

Lorelai wanted to change the subject, unsure of what Sebastian had and had not explained to Cameron, and of what Varric had shared in the letters that Sebastian had requested be sent ahead of them.

"How long have you and Cameron been married?" she asked as they walked side-by-side.

"Almost seven years," Marie stated. "I was able to meet your own husband briefly when he last traveled to Starkhaven. Cam had asked Sebastian to be his best man, but with everything that happened to the Vael family, Sebastian departed to Kirkwall before the wedding."

"Oh yes, I recall he posted a bounty on the mercenaries hired by Lady Harimann; that's how we met," Lorelai said, and then blanched. _So much for limited information,_ she thought.

Marie made no comment, but walked over to a bench and sat down gracefully. Looking back again at Lorelai, she stilled, a curious look on her face.

"I must compliment you on your gown, Lorelai. I ordered one that is strikingly similar, even down to the choice of material," she began, "It should be ready in a few days time," she said and then laughed. "Of course, now I shall have to alter my order; I wouldn't want to be accused of copying the Princess," she finished with a smile.

Lorelai's eyes widened, embarrassment jolting through her. "Oh, my, really? Yes, well…uh, thank you," she stammered, feeling her cheeks redden.

"My wife has the most remarkable taste, does she not?" said Sebastian from behind them.

Lorelai span round to see both he and Cameron approaching. He arrived by her side as Cameron continued past, and Sebastian wrapped his arm affectionately around Lorelai's waist.

"She looks stunning in whatever she wears, be it a gown of silk, or her armor," he finished, his gaze holding hers.

Lorelai looked up into his kind eyes, and was grateful for his timely rescue. "Thank you, Seb," she whispered, and he winked in response.

"Armor? You wear armor?" Cameron inquired. "The bulky kind or the fitted kind?"

"'Bulky or fitted kind'? Don't get too technical, love, we might not be able to keep up," Marie teased. "Honestly, Cam," she chuckled as the others laughed.

"What? I'm a sword and shield man, I've no clue what you call armor that isn't plate or mail," he defended. "I do, however, appreciate how some look in it, though," he said with a lascivious grin.

"_That_ I can agree with," Sebastian said softly, looking down at Lorelai, heat in his eyes.

She felt her belly flutter at his stare.

"Yes, well," Lorelai sputtered, breaking the eye contact. "I do not expect I shall be in my armor again for some time."

Marie's eyebrow arched and she leaned forward, gasping. "Armor? Lothering? Wait! You're the Champion of Kirkwall, aren't you?"

Lorelai gaped in shock, uncertain of what to say.

Cameron laughed. "Daft woman! Of course she's not the Cham…"

"…Yes, yes she is," Sebastian interrupted, pride in his voice. "That's how we came to know one another; she aided me when I was tracking down those responsible for my family's death."

"I knew it!" Marie exclaimed. "She had said she'd met you then, it just took me a moment to put it all together!"

Cameron frowned intensely, his eyes locked on Lorelai, but he made no comment. His rapid change in demeanor did not go unnoticed, and Lorelai felt Sebastian stiffen against her as Marie rose to her feet.

"Lorelai, I would love to pick your brain about the Qunari culture," she began, sliding her arm through Lorelai's. She turned them both and led her off down a side path, chattering mindlessly until they had left their husbands far behind.

Cameron's reaction left Lorelai's mind spinning.

"Would you like to meet my daughters?" Marie asked, startling Lorelai.

"Marie, of course, I would love to," she replied, her confusion apparent.

"I like the idea of them being able to know a _woman_ warrior. I know of course that we have so many of the same chances as men now, but…"

"…Wait, I'm sorry," Lorelai interrupted. "I didn't get the impression that your husband _approved_ of me being Champion," Lorelai said matter-of-factly.

Marie pursed her lips and sighed, looking down at her toes and then back up at Lorelai.

"It's not that, not in the least," Marie began. "Listen, Lorelai; we don't know each other very well yet, but I'm a rather direct person."

"As am I; I appreciate it in others as well."

Marie nodded. "There are many foul rumors about the Champion of Kirkwall, some of which lay the death of the Grand Cleric at your feet. Cam has very strong feelings about what's been happening in Kirkwall, and he was caught off guard; he meant no offense," she explained.

"That explains your sudden interest in the Qunari," Lorelai replied, a sour feeling settling in her stomach. "So, what about you then, Marie? I'm sure you've heard the same rumors," she inquired sadly.

Marie shrugged. "I have, but I know how dedicated Sebastian was to the Grand Cleric," she answered. "I don't see him marrying someone involved with her death. Cameron will agree, when he's done being an arse."

Lorelai smirked.

"Come on; let's introduce you to my girls."

**xXx**

Cameron sat on the bench, his eyes flashing with anger.

"If you've got something to say, Cameron, now would be the time," Sebastian growled, his tone hard.

Cameron's eyes flashed to Sebastian's, and he shook his head. "Maker's fucking balls, Seb! You married the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Aye, I did."

"So casual you are in your answer, as if that's a small thing!" Cameron snapped. "She's got more rumors swirling around her than a village whore! How can you expect to take back Starkhaven married to _her_? Or did you think no one would notice that the Princess of Starkhaven is thought to have murdered the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall?"

Sebastian's nostrils flared. "My _wife_ murdered no one, Lord Tisdale, and I will meet _any_ man who accuses her of wrongdoing in the field at first light!"

Cameron watched Sebastian, his eyes narrowing. "If she had nothing to do with any of it, then why is her name attached to so much? The whole of the world is paying attention to what's gone on in Kirkwall, man!" he exclaimed.

"Her name is attached to the rumors because she knew the mage who committed the crime, and had worked with him over the years; _not_ because she orchestrated Elthina's death!" Sebastian countered. "As a matter of fact, it was Lorelai who killed the murdering bastard!"

Cameron looked away and drew a deep breath. "Look, pal, I don't mean to anger you, but…"

"It would be fair to say that I am well beyond angry, _pal_," Sebastian said harshly.

The young baron stood and faced Sebastian. "Fair enough," he answered in an even tone. "I'm your friend, and if you're saying she's wound up a scapegoat, then fine, I'll take your word for it, no questions asked, but there are plenty who _won't_."

"I'm aware of that," Sebastian replied.

Cameron stared lamely. "Yet you, what, expect them to just toe the line? Do as they're told?"

"No, I expect them to cause me no end of trouble, and I expect that I will be facing down zealots who have no truth or evidence backing them, and political rivals who fan the flames," he answered. "I will make this work, Cameron, for she's been wronged, and she's my wife. She murdered no one and deserves none of this."

"So you're going to bear the brunt?"

"Yes," Sebastian said, a steely glint in his eyes.

The taller man's eyes widened. He took a step back and sighed, seeing the resolve in his lifelong friend's eyes. "Okay."

Neither man spoke for a few minutes, until finally, Cameron cleared his throat. "You know you have my full support, but damn, pal, this is going to be a rough go."

"I do, and I know."

"All right. I apologize, Sebastian, and I will apologize to her as well," Cameron said sincerely.

"Accepted, but _I_ will talk to Lorelai. Maker knows, you've flirted with her enough."

Cameron smiled weakly, placing his hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "It's a nasty, awful thing, loving a woman," he said with a chuckle. "They've no idea what they do to us."

Sebastian nodded. "It is indeed, but she's worth it, Cam. By the Maker, I'm telling you, she's worth it."

_**A huge thanks to Lisa! Back in ten!**_

_**Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, alerting, and 'favorite-ing'. I'm really very grateful!**_


	11. A Sloop, A Templar & A Good Nights Sleep

**A Sloop, A Templar and A Good Nights Sleep**

The carriage lurched to a start and Marie and Cameron watched it wind away from them down the drive, the driver's lamp glowing brightly to show the way.

Dusk was beginning to settle upon the countryside, and the driver set a quick pace to deliver his royal passengers to Wycome before the fullness of dark arrived.

The afternoon had been a success, save the slight awkwardness between Lorelai and Cameron, which both Cameron and Sebastian had attempted to smooth over. By the end of their visit, Lorelai seemed to be comfortable in Cameron's company once more.

Cameron now looked down at his wife, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Well, that wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, eh?"

Marie looked up and rolled her eyes. "Cameron, you're a very charming man, but Maker, you nearly swallowed your whole foot in the garden," she reminded him.

"Och, you're a-havering, woman! I wooed her back," he countered with a shake of his head.

"Uh huh," she muttered, completely unconvinced by his words. "What, may I ask, did Sebastian have to say to you in the garden?"

They walked together up the stairs and entered the home, his arm still draped around her. "That's a man's discussion, wife, and is none of your womanly business," he told her with a frown.

"Oh, well from _that_ comment I can ascertain that Sebastian told you what a massive arse you were," she replied. "Which he was quite within his rights to do."

He sighed and paused; Marie stayed by his side and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"You realize, of course, that he is completely aware of all the rumors and allegations concerning Lorelai," Cameron stated, his tone reflecting his still-unresolved conflict with his friend's decision. "He was unmoved by my arguments."

"Wait, you counseled him against his own wife?" she stammered, shocked by his actions.

Cameron immediately looked contrite. "No, not against her, per se, I just wanted to make sure he understood what he was getting into, the added burden her situation would place on him."

Marie stared at her husband, her mouth gaping.

"Sweet Maker, you're quite lucky he didn't pummel you flat, Cam!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps even more so that he even remained for the rest of the evening! When I pulled her out of the garden, I was clear with her about why your mood changed as it did, but I had no idea that you…"

"Marie," he interrupted, his tone terse.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him. "She saw your reaction to her being Champion as clearly as the rest of us did. You can't have expected me to lie? You know I don't do that, and it would have done no justice to either of us. I like her, Cam, and I would like to call her friend."

He looked aside and then nodded. "Go on then," he conceded, prodding her to finish her statement.

"When I pulled her out of the garden, I explained why you'd acted as you had, and she, while clearly distressed, did not avoid the topic," she explained. "She made no effort to be deceptive; it seems they are both facing it head on."

They walked to the staircase and ascended, neither speaking. A few minutes later they entered their rooms and each began to remove their formal clothes, eager to relax.

Marie watched Cameron carefully, and could tell he was stewing on something more than just his argument with his best friend.

"What is it, love?" she asked softly. She crossed to where he was undressing, patted his hands away from his tie, and took over opening the knot. "I know you were startled today, but there's more to it."

He shook his head. "Nothing, it's nothing."

Her husband was without question an incorrigible flirt; a sexy, rascal of a man with a coaxing manner and a ready grin, but this was almost something of an act. In truth, he was an insightful, sentimental, and compassionate man, immovably committed to those he loved.

Something was clearly bothering him deeply.

"It doesn't look like nothing, Cam," she commented quietly, her worry growing.

"She doesn't love him."

Marie's hands stilled as she pinned him with a serious look. "What makes you say that? I didn't see anything…"

"…It's the way she looks at him. It's not the same, it's not _equal_," he said quickly.

She gently wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm afraid I'm going to require that you make sense, my love."

His brow furrowed and he ran his hand through his hair. "What I mean to say is that Sebastian adores her, he loves her, respects her; you can see it when he _looks_ at her. When I stepped on my toes in the garden, he was ready to bray me, Marie."

"I'm completely confused. What does _that_ have to do with _her_ feelings for him?" she asked. "Besides, what kind of example were you looking for? Perhaps she's not the type to wear her heart upon her sleeve."

"No. I'm not…look, Marie, I know I sound off," he began, and then paused, taking a deep breath. "I like the lass; she's smart, she's beautiful, well-spoken, and she laughed at all my jokes. I am not saying there's anything odd, or that she's playing Seb false…"

"What _are_ you saying, then?"

He stepped back from her embrace and reached for one of the ivory pins holding her hair in place, pulling it loose, and began to spin it around his fingers.

"I am saying that when Lorelai looks at Sebastian, I see trust, caring and friendship. When _he_ looks at her, there is so much…_more_. I do not doubt that she cares for Sebastian," he continued. "It's obvious that she does. There's definitely a strong bond between them, but I think it's stronger for Sebastian than for Lorelai, and, considering what he's facing, it's got me anxious."

Marie moved to him and slowly pulled the tie from his collar. "Cameron, have you ever seen Sebastian in love?"

"No," he confessed.

Marie nodded. "Well, that's something to consider, isn't it? That she has his love?" she argued. "Seb isn't a child, and I get the impression that underneath his reasonable countenance is a person of deep feelings and convictions," she elaborated and paused, waiting for his agreement.

He nodded.

"Sebastian has been your best friend for nearly thirty years, and _he_ has known Lorelai for seven," she resumed, unlacing his shirt. "We've known Lorelai for all of four hours. Perhaps we should not presume how she may express anything, let alone her love, or lack thereof, for her husband. I think you should trust Sebastian."

She stepped back, having finished the tiny ties of his shirt, and placed a quick kiss to his exposed chest.

"I know how important your friendship with Seb is to you, darling," she said slowly. "I also realize that your dedication to him fueled your reaction tonight, but do not let your desire protect your friend's best interests push _him_ away," she whispered. "Until you have a reason to doubt Lorelai's sincerity, you need to give her the benefit of the doubt, or, I fear, you will lose his trust and friendship."

Cameron nodded silently and turned away, shrugging out of his doublet. "Your habit of wise counsel can be very tedious, Marie," he teased quietly; his tone then became more serious. "You're correct, though, love. I will strive to be open to Lorelai," he said with a heavy sigh. "Maker knows, if she's got Sebastian under her spell, she must be worth talking to, at the very least."

"I found her to be so, yes," Marie answered with a gentle smile. "The girls adored her."

"Did they? Was she properly heroic for them?" he asked with a grin. "Did Hannah ask Lorelai for details about the gravy boat made of the Arishok's skull?" he inquired, referring with their six-year-old daughter's fascination with the more morbid details of the famous duel Lorelai fought with the leader of the Qunari. The gravy boat tale was one of her favorites.

"No," she replied with a laugh. "I think she was too awestruck to ask."

Her husband chuckled and she saw his tense shoulders begin to relax.

"Did you know the Vaels are leaving for Starkhaven from here?" she asked as she, too, began to remove her finery.

"Of course, it's the next logical step. Sebastian will stop at the homes and businesses of those who owe his family favors as they make their way upriver," Cameron replied.

"They're only waiting for an appropriate barge to become available," she explained. "It seems silly really, considering we have two rather luxurious barges at our disposal. My father left his here for the season. It's just down there at the dock, floating…floating and empty."

Cameron's eyebrows went up and Marie smiled softly to herself, hearing the wheels of her husband's mind roll toward her intended destination.

"If we were to prepare our barge as well as your father's, assuming Sebastian would even be willing, we could all travel together to Starkhaven!" he said, beginning to pace.

He smiled and rubbed his hands together, a plan clearly forming in his mind, one she wished to reinforce.

"It _would_ be a sound opportunity to bring Sebastian up to date on the happenings at court, as well as for you to be close by when he begins to meet with our allies," she reasoned.

He nodded. "It would also allow me to broker his introduction to some of the newer nobles as we pass their estates; those who came into their titles after Sebastian left the city."

She removed the other pins from her hair. "It would."

"Well? What do you think of offering your father's barge to the Vaels?" he asked. "We could be ready to depart in say, three or four day's time? We could keep to our barge with the girls, allowing the newlyweds their privacy while we follow them upriver."

She turned and faced him, laying an earring on her vanity as she did so. "I think it's a wonderful idea, husband," she agreed. "You should ride into Wycome tomorrow and see if your plan suits them."

"Good! Good!" he said with enthusiasm.

She bit her lip, holding back her giggle.

"I _do_ notice when you do that, you know," he said a moment later.

"Do what?"

"Pretend that I come up with _your_ superior ideas," he stated, smiling flirtatiously at her.

"I've no clue what you're talking about, Cam," she replied with a wink. "Now, hurry up and change; we can still kiss the girls good night."

"Hag," he teased, happy to hear her laugh. He came up from behind her and placed a loving kiss on the top of her head. "What would I do without you?"

**xXx**

The ride back to Wycome was rapid, their driver not wishing to be on the highway after dark. Sebastian had overheard Cameron instruct the driving team to stay overnight in Wycome, and he intended to arrange for their dinners at the inn.

It had been good to be with Cameron again, Sebastian reflected as he studied the pink horizon. Cameron was closer to Sebastian than any of his own brothers had been, and he knew he could count on him once he ascended his throne.

His temper had nearly gotten away from him when Cameron had been rude to Lorelai, but he knew his friend's reaction was out of concern for him, and not meant as a judgment or slight against his wife.

He looked to where she was seated across from him and noticed that she was drifting off to sleep. She spotted his glance and drew up a sleepy smile.

"Sorry, it's just…I feel like my very _bones_ need a nap," she explained, her voice even sounding tired. "I started feeling like this the other day; there's nothing I want more than to fall onto a pillow and snore."

He nodded and smiled. "It's the baby, darlin'," he stated. "I saw it in other mothers too, those still early in their time."

With a smirk she shifted her body and sagged lower in her seat. "You've had experience with pregnant woman?" she queried, before yawning.

"I have," he admitted, grinning at her. "I used to help the sisters in the chantry with the unwed mothers that sought the Chantry's aid," he explained, and, seeing the surprised look on her face, quickly clarified. "Not with anything, uh, intimate, mind you, but with things like arranging their rooms, seeing to their day-to-day needs."

"Oh, well that makes sense," she commented with a frown. "Is there any, uh, did you observe anything else? Anything I should know about?"

"Such as?" he asked slowly, studying her closely.

"Oh, like, anything, everything," she answered pitifully. "It's not as if I've ever done this before."

He noticed the worry in her voice and he rose, bent at the waist, and turned, sitting down next to her on the bench. He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Are you scared, Lorelai?" he whispered, resting his chin on top of her head.

"Shitless."

He chuckled and the low sound vibrated against his chest. "Eloquently stated, darlin'," he teased.

He couldn't see her smile, but he heard her sigh.

"Lorelai, tell me," he gently ordered, rubbing his arm up and down hers.

"I'm scared. It's not a special kind of scared really, just the vague, pervasive kind," she rambled. "I don't know what to expect from the pregnancy, so I don't know what's good or bad. I don't know if I'm doing the right things, or if there are things I'm supposed to avoid. With my luck I'm avoiding the things I'm supposed to be doing."

He didn't reply, and, sensing she needed to talk, continued to sit with her.

"And I still don't _want_ this baby. I'm worried that it will be more than _just_ a child when it's born, that there is more to this than we know," she finally confessed, her voice no louder than a whisper. "Or that its father will come back for us. You've heard all of this before, I know, I'm sorry to prattle on."

He closed his eyes tightly, and steadied his heart before he answered her. The last thing she needed to learn was the depth of his anger toward Anders; it would only compound her distress.

He cleared his throat. "Do you remember in Kirkwall, when you agreed to marry me? I made a promise to you, that I would find a way to protect you, both of you, from Anders. Do you recall?"

She nodded. "It's not right, Seb," she said softly. "I've asked too much of you…"

"Lorelai Vael, if you attempt to explain to me how I have not the right to protect my family, you will for the first time truly see me angry," he interrupted, his tone hard, but his hand did not stop rubbing her arm.

He felt her stiffen under his touch, but she relaxed a moment later. They both remained quiet for a few brief moments before he continued.

"I know you remember Samson, the man who smuggled mages? The 'retired' templar?"

She shifted and sat up slightly, still leaning against him, but now looking up at him. "I do, he was a lyrium addict as I recall," she commented. "Why?"

"He was a lyrium addict, yes, years ago, but he's been recovered for almost five years now," he explained. "He began doing some very basic bodyguard work, and became known to his brethren again as a respectable sort," he continued. "It was how he came to be on the Wounded Coast the day we freed Bethany from those rebels and blood mages."

"Yes, Cullen promised Samson would be considered for resuming his vows," she said. "Are you saying he did not take them again?"

"No, he didn't. Samson did return to The Gallows, but after our departure, and during his reintegration, he felt that Meredith was too far gone, and so chose to leave again," Sebastian elaborated. "He's retained his abilities as a templar, though, and can still smite a mage."

Her brow creased. "I don't understand."

"He's meeting us here in three days, assuming his coach is on time. He will be your bodyguard, and once we are established in Starkhaven," he continued, "he will train a few, trusted guardsmen who are warriors. Those who guard you and the bairn will all be fully capable of stopping a mage – _any_ mage – in his or her tracks."

She stared at him for a moment and, as he saw tears fill her eyes, he was fearful his plan had upset her, rather than giving her the comfort and peace of mind it was intended to.

"Oh, Seb!" she cried. "Thank you!"

In one swift motion, she turned at her waist and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him to her. His arms closed around her and he held her close, relishing the feel of her in them.

He held her close all the way home.

**xXx**

Lorelai watched Sebastian pushing the chairs in their suite around. He was attempting to arrange a place to sleep, and he angled one this way, while he angled another that way, all in an effort to give her the bed.

He laid down in an arrangement, only to immediately stand, seeking out another.

She shook her head. "Seb, this truly is ridiculous," she observed. "We're a married couple, for Maker's sake, which is something we've worked _very_ hard convincing people of. What if a maid should enter? What will she think, seeing you floundering over there in your makeshift bed?"

He scowled and stood once more, shifting the chair to his left, before lying back down. "She'll think she should have bloody well knocked!" he grumbled.

She bit her lip, restraining her giggle. He truly was getting annoyed; it was time to take matters into her own hands.

Walking through his furniture obstacle course, she picked up the pillows and his heavy coverlet, and, ignoring his protests, dumped them onto the bed.

"Oh shush, Seb," she said, her tone warm. She snapped the coverlet, spreading it flat on top of the made bed, and then folded it in half, length wise. She walked to the side and placed the pillows on top of the sheets, but under the edge of the coverlet, and turned the corner of it down.

"See? You can sleep right here," she stated, turning to him and pointing at the bed she had created. "It's on the mattress, so you'll finally be comfortable and in the coverlet but on top of the sheets, there is no risk of us…" her voice trailed off. She shrugged. "Whatever. You get the idea."

"Lorelai, it's not that I'm worried we will…"he stammered, shifting his body weight uneasily. "It's just that…"

She looked into his eyes, and shook her head, refusing to be embarrassed.

"Sebastian, look, we'll either get _there_ or we won't," she said, matter-of-factly. "The idea that you should sleep clinging to whatever seating is in our rooms, your back kinked into knots, until then is idiotic," she continued as she moved around to her side of the bed and climbed into it.

"Now, get in bed, Sebastian," she ordered.

He watched her settle and saw that she fell asleep almost instantly.

He knew she was right, and in truth, the idea of sleeping on the stuffed chairs looked far worse than sleeping crammed onto the tiny settee in their cabin aboard the Anderson Elizabeth.

The only good night of sleep he'd had since he'd found her on her mother's terrace was the night of the terrific gale, when they'd fallen asleep together on the bed.

What she still didn't know was how powerfully drawn to her he was, and, in his illogical mind, sharing the bed with her was akin to having a staring contest with temptation herself.

But Maker, he was exhausted, and the idea of sleeping undisturbed was very inviting.

Quietly, he went behind the changing screen and undressed, putting on the loose cotton pants he slept in. He rinsed his face and hands in the basin and then, in a hushed tone, completed his nightly devotion and prayers.

Finished with his routine, he walked softly toward the large hanging lamps in the corner of the room and doused their flames. Moonlight filled the room and he moved to close the curtains before he finally walked to the bedside.

With great care, so as not to jostle her, he climbed into the bed she had created for him and his muscles rejoiced at the feel of the soft feather mattress giving way beneath his weight. He sighed in pleasure and turned to look at her sleeping face. Her lips were parted slightly.

"Good night, wife," he said quietly and fell asleep with thoughts of her lips still fresh in his mind.

**xXx**

She'd had the dream again.

The dream, exactly the same as the only other dream she'd had of Sebastian, was very explicit in its nature and still very much on her mind as the day pulled her from sleep.

She opened her eyes and blinked slowly. Turning her head, she saw him lying next to her, and for the briefest of moments, wondered if her dream had been no dream at all.

To her surprise, she felt a dash of disappointment that it hadn't been.

She thought he was beginning to stir from his own slumber, but his eyes remained closed, and she noticed again how long his lashes were. She rolled over, still looking at him, purposefully tucking her hands under her chin; the urge to touch him was nearly irresistible.

Who Sebastian was to her was changing, that much she was prepared to admit, and the changes went far beyond the obvious one of friend to husband and protector. She was coming to understand the man he was, and why, and each new thing she learned only added to her heart's confusion.

She had loved Anders; he had been everything to her. Without reservation, she would have walked through fire to safeguard him, and part of her wondered if she still wouldn't. Her dedication to him had been whole, but the wretched fact was that this dedication had destroyed them.

It was not beyond her own objectivity to understand that she had deliberately excused behavior that in another person would have caused her both concern and alarm.

Anders had been right, so many years ago; he'd broken her heart in the end. When she reflected on Anders' brutal honesty with her then, she knew he had never intended to place her before his goals. Only her naïve perception of who and _what_ he was had allowed her to believe otherwise.

And now?

Sebastian loved her, only an idiot could have missed it. Unfortunately, Lorelai was as adept an idiot as ever; somehow, she had not seen the extra care and gentle attention he had always shown her for what it was.

She gazed at her sleeping husband, at his sun-kissed skin and stubble-covered chin, and considered her future. Despite her fears regarding the child in her womb, and the persistent unease she felt about Anders' intentions, she knew she could trust her life to Sebastian. He had readily embraced her and her bastard child, the child of his greatest enemy. She knew he meant what he'd said; he was determined to make them a family and his compassion startled even her.

As he lay next to her, the feel of his imagined touch still fresh in her awakening mind, she was forced to acknowledge that she had deeper feelings for him than she had realized.

It was not love she felt for him, at least not yet; her heart was only starting to recover from Anders. There was a great potential between them, for them, one that she couldn't deny.

He was an honest, honorable man who had shown more character, friendship, and commitment to her than the man she _had_ given her heart to. It gave her hope that Sebastian loved her, that he believed in her, but it worried her, as well. Her own heart was still reeling from the devastation that Anders' betrayal had wrought; she knew of the potential heartbreak Sebastian's love for her exposed him to.

What if she failed him?

"Will I be able to love you as you deserve?" she whispered, her words so soft she herself barely heard them.

If she could let Anders go, if she could forgive herself, if she could ever be _whole_ enough to open her heart again…

She closed her eyes and prayed.

**xXx**

The bustle of activity at the river dock at the back of the Smythefield estate was impressive, at least in Lorelai's humble opinion.

It had been five days since Cameron had interrupted their breakfast and offered his father-in-law's barge to the newlyweds. The political opportunity, coupled with the chance to travel with those he trusted implicitly, easily persuaded Sebastian to accept.

Samson arrived a day behind schedule, and Sebastian, Lorelai, and their new bodyguard had removed from Wycome to stay at the Smythefield home the night before their planned departure. Now, as the sun began to creep above the tree line, the staff's effort to depart with the morning's high tide looked to pay off.

Lorelai was sitting under a tree above the sloop*, her interest in the preparations nearly engrossing her, but not enough to let her miss the sound of Sebastian approaching. He settled down next to her, leaning back against the tree trunk.

"Good morning," she offered with a smile.

"Morning, darlin'," he answered. "Somehow I knew I would find you down here."

"Did you, now?"

"Aye," he replied, his eyes warm with his gentle smile. "I have learned that my wife tends to be quite excited by our traveling adventure," he commented as he reached for her hand and placed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

She laughed softly. "At least you know I'm easily amused," she teased. "Are the Averys coming down soon?"

He glanced back at the house and then nodded. "I saw Cam briefly; he and the nanny were getting the girls some breakfast. Marie is indisposed, but Cam says she won't be too long; apparently she tends to need a bit more time in the morning right now."

"Oh," she said casually. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she understood his meaning. "Oh Maker, that hasn't happened to me yet," she observed with worry. "I wonder if I shall be sick as well?"

"Not all experience feeling ill in the morning," he consoled her. "But perhaps you should ask Marie? I know you have many questions and I cannot answer them all."

She turned and watched the movement below. "Have you told them, then?" she asked quietly.

"No, I haven't," he confessed. "But it's been a month since we married, so if you wish to speak with her, you can soon do so."

"I didn't ask you, for it had not occurred to me, but if I'm asked, when exactly did we wed?" she asked over her shoulder.

His brow furrowed. "I've no wish for us to lie if we needn't," he stated.

She shook her head and turned to face him. "Seb, I'm _more_ than a month pregnant; in another week I will have missed my second cycle," she argued. "Don't most babies come nine months after they're conceived? When this one comes what, eight months into our marriage, do you think people won't notice?"

"Some children arrive early," he countered.

"And some don't, Sebastian."

He sighed. "I realize that," he said. "But there are too many in Kirkwall who could potentially counter our claim should we say we have been married longer than we have," he reasoned. "A simple lie for us to make, yes, and I agree with you in its benefits, but if discovered, it could unravel everything we've done to protect us."

She glanced down. "You're probably right," she sighed. "I'll give it a little more time though, before I speak with Marie."

"About what?" asked a voice from behind them.

They turned together and saw that Marie was walking across the grass toward them, a smile on her face.

"You both look so startled!" she announced with a laugh. "I'm sorry for laughing, but it's a proud moment for me, a lumbering pregnant woman sneaking up on two skilled rogues!"

Lorelai grinned and Sebastian came to his feet, a smile of his own gracing his features. "Good morning, Marie," he said graciously as he helped Lorelai to her feet. "I hope you are well this morning."

Marie nodded, her eyes twinkling. "Good morning."

Lorelai slipped her arm through Sebastian's. "In our defense," she began, "you hardly 'lumber'."

"Well, that will come soon enough, trust me on that," she answered. "That along with a few other choice benefits of pregnancy," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lorelai bit her lip. "Is it so bad then? Being pregnant?"

Marie's eyebrow arched slightly. "No. It's actually rather wonderful, if you can overlook the endless vomit and fatigue," she replied with a wink. "But that will be over soon, and then we will enjoy this one's growth," she finished, her hand on her slightly swollen middle. Her eyes returned to Sebastian and she blushed. "Oh, Maker, that's probably a rather inappropriate amount of information, Sebastian, forgive me!"

Sebastian chuckled. "No apology necessary," he insisted.

"Don't apologize to him, Marie! He'll think he's important or something," called out Cameron as he walked up the ramp from the dock. He arrived at their group, his eyes full of concern as they fell on his wife.

"Are you all right, my love?" he inquired and with her quick nod, he turned to Lorelai. "Good morning, Lorelai. I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you. I am very eager to set off this morning," she replied, her voice brimming with excitement.

"Then we'd best get to it, hadn't we?" Cameron said with a smile. "Sebastian, if you will walk down with me, I want you to have a wee shuftie at Kenneth's barge; if all meets with your approval and you're comfortable with his captain, we shall leave within the hour."

"Oh! I'd best let Jenny know," Marie exclaimed, referring to her nanny. "Would you like to come with me?" she asked of Lorelai.

"Actually, I was hoping to sneak down to see the barge with Seb, assuming that's what 'shuftie' means," Lorelai announced with a sly smile, her eyes moving between the two men.

Marie laughed. "I think she may be starting to understand you, Cam."

"I don't know, Lorelai," Cameron said in a cautionary tone. "Spending more time with me is only liable to make you think _less_ of your poor husband."

Sebastian let out a snort. "Not bloody likely, pal!" he countered good-naturedly.

"Just because he's not your man," Marie began, arching her eyebrow and pinning her husband with a teasing look, "doesn't mean you cannot smack him as you feel necessary," she finished.

"Do you see how my wee slip of a wife abuses me? It's shocking, really," Cameron said with a shake of his head.

"Have no fear, Marie," Sebastian answered with a wry grin. "Lorelai can be ruthless if necessary."

Marie laughed and departed for the house.

Sebastian, with Lorelai on his arm, followed Cameron down to the barge they had borrowed from Kenneth Smythefield. A half hour later, having been introduced to the captain and the barge's crew, the Avery family arrived on the dock, and the children, nanny and Marie quickly boarded their personal vessel, the children and Marie waving warmly at Lorelai as they did so.

Sebastian and Cameron shook hands, the captain of Cameron's ship announcing that the tide was with them and the time to sail was now.

Ten minutes later, as Sebastian and Lorelai stood at the railing at the front of Kenneth's barge, the dockhands and crew worked in perfect unison as the ropes and tethers holding the boat were loosened.

"I'm eager to see your home, Seb," Lorelai said as she took his hand in hers.

He looked down at her, thinking of the missive he had received from Varric the night before, the one he had not told her about yet.

"As am I," he answered and watched her enjoy the adventure of the moment. "As am I."

***sloop is a fore and aft rigged boat with one mast and one jib**

_**Thanks to Lisa for going over this four times. You're a patient lass, and Cameron appreciates your efforts!**_

_**I also wish to say thank you for reading, reviewing, and subscribing to this story. It's a wonderful thing to read your responses – thank you for taking the extra time, I am grateful!**_


	12. Freedom

**Freedom**

Fenris sat alone in a corner of The Hanged Man, waiting for Varric to appear.

He'd been waiting for almost two hours now, but as the dwarf's errand was something Fenris considered critical, he did not notice the passing time. Varric would arrive when he did, and then Fenris would have what he needed.

He sipped slowly at his lukewarm ale, his eyes running over the riff-raff that filled the main room of the tavern. So much had changed in Kirkwall since the mages' rebellion had been ignited, but the clientele of The Hanged Man had not.

Templars had arrived from neighboring city-states as well as from Orlais, and The Gallows was now secure, though there was no longer a Circle of Magi there to guard. Aveline had been very effective in managing the city, and the newly-appointed Knight-Commander, Cullen, had seen no purpose in extending the reach of his force beyond its original confines.

Order was slowly and reasonably being restored to Kirkwall.

A burst of laughter drew his attention away from the profanities scratched into the wood of the table, and he noted that Varric had entered the tavern. He stood and moved silently to Varric's back room; he would allow the dwarf time to spread his tales and pander to those who would further their goals of protecting Hawke.

Fenris waited patiently in the back until Varric appeared several minutes later.

"Fancy meeting you here," the dwarf quipped as he entered the room, carrying a leather satchel in one hand, and a frothy pint in the other. "Been waiting long?"

"No more than I was willing," answered Fenris, his eyes on the satchel. "You have what I require?"

Varric tossed the satchel over the table and Fenris caught it with ease. "I do, take a look."

Fenris opened the satchel and pulled out an envelope, its seal of crimson wax unblemished. The impression in the wax was that of the office of the clerk to the Tevinter Imperium Senate. "It's a masterful forgery, Varric, thank you."

Varric nodded. "Of course it is. You ought to know by now that I don't deal with anyone who isn't the best in their field of expertise," he commented with a wry grin. "Now, feel like telling me why you needed a copy of that? I can't quite believe that you lost the papers Hawke got from the _actual_ Senate."

"No, I do not," Fenris replied. "Have you the originals still?"

"In the bag," Varric stated.

Fenris lifted the satchel and removed the other set of paperwork. He opened the stiff parchment, his fingers running lovingly over the words contained within. "Keep them for me, please. I cannot risk their loss."

Varric studied the elf, his lips drawn in a tight line. "All right, but on one condition: you rethink what you're planning, whatever the hell it is."

Fenris met the dwarf's gaze, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Fenris," Varric began, taken aback by the steel he saw in his friend's stance. "What's going on?"

Fenris' eyes narrowed, still not fully prepared to reveal his intentions, but understanding why Varric seemed concerned. "The abomination is heading to the Imperium," he finally answered.

Varric stared, gaping as he understood why Fenris needed the copies. "I'd heard that too," he answered slowly, his eyes widening with worry. "Fuck me, Fenris. Reconsider this, please," he pleaded.

Fenris looked down at the original papers he held so reverently in his gauntlet-covered hand. "Will you protect these?" he asked, holding them aloft.

Varric reached out and took the papers from Fenris' hand.

"Thank you," Fenris said simply, and he turned to leave the room.

"Listen, at least come by tomorrow night, talk with Aveline and Merrill," Varric said in his most persuasive tone. "If nothing else, we can all have a final round and get in some cards. What do you say?"

Fenris nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I will be here," he confirmed, and left.

An hour later, Fenris was settled in his tattered chair before his fire. Carefully, he opened the documents Varric had prepared for him, and he read their contents.

He practiced his reading often, as Hawke had encouraged him to do during their lessons, but some of the larger words still gave him trouble. By now, however, he'd committed every word of these particular documents to memory.

He folded the papers and set them aside, remembering the first time he had read them.

"_I have something for you, Fenris," Lorelai had announced as she'd breezed through his front door._

_She'd bounded up the stairs and hurried toward his desk before placing her hip pouch on its top. He'd gazed at it curiously, but had made no move to pick it up. With a shake of her head, she'd flipped the leather flap back and pulled out a pristine envelope._

"_Here," she'd said as she'd held it out to him._

_He'd taken the envelope and opened it, his heart skipping an uneasy beat as his eyes recognized the Imperium Senate seal on its exterior. He slowly unfolded the parchment and began to read the writing inside. _

_He remembered looking up at her. "What is this, Hawke?" he'd asked, his voice almost a whisper._

_She'd looked at him with worry for a moment and had bitten her lip. "Uh, well, I wasn't too sure what the rules were in Tevinter regarding, uh, inheritance," she began. "But I do know that you were once considered property. It concerned me that someone may have the right to, well, to…" she cleared her throat. "…to claim you as theirs, now that Danarius is dead."_

_His eyes had snapped back to the paper, a sick feeling in his belly._

"_I thought it best to make sure that no one could," she'd continued. "So I hired the man who does all the legal footwork work for Seneschal Bran to investigate. It turns out that Danarius did mention you in his will, bequeathing you to his son, Argus." _

"_Argus is dead, is he not?" _

_She'd nodded. "Yes. He was killed last year in some sort of duel in Vol Dorma."_

_She'd walked over to his side and had pointed at the third paragraph. _

"_As Danarius did specifically refer to you, according to their law, it separated you from his general property, which, by the way, his debtors and apprentices are still grappling over," she'd explained. "Since he failed to amend his will after Argus' death, their law states that your enslavement ended with Danarius' death. No one can claim you." _

_Fenris had touched the paragraph she'd explained. "You-you freed me?" he'd asked quietly with a hitch in his voice. _

_Lorelai had smiled softly. "No. You freed yourself; this just makes it official." _

_He'd stood there staring at the papers for several minutes._

"_I hope you don't mind me doing this, Fenris. I just…I know how hard you've struggled to stand on your own two feet," she'd said uneasily. "I didn't wish to interfere with that, but you're my friend and I wanted to make sure that no one could ever come after you again."_

_He'd looked up at her again, emotion choking him. "Hawke…Lorelai, I cannot begin to…" he'd begun, but was unable to find words worthy enough to express how grateful he was. She'd looked at him nervously and he'd forced himself to speak. _

"_I cannot fathom the cost you incurred obtaining this…"_

"_No cost, well, not really," she'd replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I will say that it's amazing the amount of bribes it took to get this to the top of the clerk's files at the Senate offices, but I used the money from the sale of the items we took off of Danarius and his thugs," she'd explained with a smirk. _

_Fenris had sighed, the magnitude of her actions sinking in. "So my master paid to free me. The irony in this is delicious."_

_She had laughed. "Yes, indeed, I thought you'd enjoy that," she'd admitted. "Does this mean you aren't upset with me?"_

"_Far from it; I am most appreciative," he'd told her._

He opened his eyes and watched the flames dance in the hearth.

If his dedication to her had not already been total, he could readily point to that moment as when it had become so.

He rose from his chair and walked to the armoire, pulling it open. He began to catalog the contents, deciding what he would need with him on his travels.

**xXx**

Sunset on the river would be a new experience for Lorelai, and Sebastian suspected she was looking forward to it. The Minanter River was wide, wild, and perilously shallow, the changing tide hiding its nefarious sand bars. Lorelai had spent much of the day observing their surroundings as the sloop's crew navigated the river.

Now, as Sebastian emerged from below deck, stiff from hours of poring over notes and worksheets prepared by Cameron, which detailed those people they would call upon en route, he was ready to allow her infectious interest in the river and their journey to relax him.

The continuous revelation of Lorelai, of who she was, astounded him.

Loving her from afar had not done her justice, and he'd discovered since they'd fled Kirkwall that her upbeat outlook on things, something he'd always admired in her, influenced everything about her. She appreciated the simple beauty of life and found joy in experiencing it.

It had made the depths of her despair after Anders had betrayed her all the more horrible to Sebastian, and his instinct to safeguard her was now nothing short of feral.

He was not eager to share Varric's letter with her.

He paused briefly, his eyes surveying the deck as he looked for her. The sun was low and its riot of colors danced and sparkled on the undisturbed water before them only to leap and scatter in their wake. The smell of the fresh water and the wind buffeted him. It was a peaceful, beautiful scene, one which he suspected his wife was enthralled by.

He spotted her curled on a bench at the aft of the sloop and smiled. Her knees were tucked up under her chin and her face turned to watch their wake; as he approached, he found himself eager to hear her thoughts on the sunset.

"Lorelai?" he asked from a few feet away, the wind carrying his voice to her. She did not turn to face him and so when he reached her, he sat down quietly next to her, filling the space of the small bench completely.

She didn't move as he settled against her, and he craned his neck to find that she was not enthralled by the beauty around them at all; she was asleep.

He chuckled as he reached out and caressed her cheek.

His touch caused her to stir slightly and he pulled her legs over his lap, careful to make sure her skirts covered her. Scooting further up the bench, he gently lifted her into his lap and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple.

She sighed and shifted, resting her head on his shoulder, but not quite waking.

They sat cradled together for several minutes, his heart satisfied to hold her, content to feel her in his arms.

The sun was nearly in its bed as the crew change began and it was the call of orders from the first mate that finally pulled Lorelai from her slumber. She stretched languidly, like a cat, before her green eyes fluttered open and met his. A slow smiled pulled at her lips.

"Hello," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Hello," he replied, matching her smile with his own.

"I fell asleep," she observed needlessly.

Sebastian chuckled. "You did."

"Again."

"Aye," he laughed as his smile grew.

She giggled and reached up, pushing his wind-tangled hair away from his face, and he saw a change in her countenance. Their eyes held as she slowly lowered her hand, her thumb grazing his chin as she dropped it to his shoulder. His eyes darkened as he saw her look at his mouth.

"Seb?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers, his breath quickening when she turned her head, her mouth achingly close to his. He held fast, going no further, as uncertainty warred against his desire to kiss her. It was too soon, he knew; her heart was still mending and she needed his ardor like she needed another leg.

He felt her lips hesitantly graze against his and he almost bellowed in triumph at her touch, but instead he jerked his head up, his common sense overwhelming his need to kiss her.

"No. Not yet," he rasped.

She searched his face, and her eyes revealed she was fighting a similar battle. "Not yet," she agreed a moment later.

The world around them seemed to suddenly return, as the passing crew members and the approaching darkness hurtled them both to reality. They each shifted on the bench, separating from one another.

"I received a letter from Varric yesterday, before our departure," he began cautiously as he stood and helped her to do the same.

She brushed her long braid over her shoulder and shook her skirts smooth. When she looked up, he noted she did not fully meet his eyes. "May I read the letter?"

"Of course."

He escorted her below deck to their large room, where he pulled out the desk's chair and saw her seated. He gave her the letter and she read it carefully.

"So, they know he's alive," she noted as she lowered the letter.

"They suspect it, anyway. Our friends have crafted a rather creative way of addressing this; let us hope it works."

"All right, yes," she said with a blank nod, setting the letter aside as she turned her head to look up at him. "What did you learn from Cameron's notes?"

Sebastian scrutinized her tense posture. "_All right_?" he repeated. "Forgive me, but I expected you would have a bit more to say on the matter," he stated, watching her closely.

Lorelai looked down at her hands, her shoulders rigid. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Lorelai," Sebastian said with a fierce frown, thrown by her reaction. "I am not disappointed, merely confused. We've not dodged talking about Anders before, why do so now?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "Why? You ask me why?" she sputtered.

"Darlin'…"

"…No. You don't understand, Seb," she whispered as she closed her eyes. "Five minutes ago we…we…I cannot think about you and then _him_!" she said, slapping her palms down, jostling the desk top. "Maker help me, I cannot escape him!"

He knelt down next to the chair and she turned to look at him as her chin began to tremble. "Why, you asked? Because I don't _want_ to wonder about him, to consider what is happening to him, because I cannot care about Anders any longer!"

A tear slipped down her cheek as she continued. "He's not dead, we already _knew_ that. Nothing has changed and the fate of Kirkwall is beyond my control. Damn him!" she cursed, wiping her tears with the ball of her hand. "Every time I loosen his hold on me, something tightens his grip. I just need to move on. Please, Sebastian, I don't want to hear anything more about him."

He watched her struggle with her pain and worried she may regret what she was asking. "Are you certain? Are you certain you want to leave this to me?"

"Maker, yes. I'm sorry, but for now, yes," she said in defeat.

He nodded and stood, leaning over her to gather Cameron's notes, handing them to her.

"Here's everything that Cam had ready this morning," he said quietly. "If you start here…" He shifted the small stack of papers, bringing one particularly detailed page to the top, "…you will know everything there is to know about the MacDonald family; we will be visiting them first."

She nodded quickly and sat forward in the chair, turning her attention to the papers. A moment later she glanced up at him, her eyes betraying her sadness. "Thank you."

He stepped away from the desk, moving over to a sideboard to pick up a small apple. With his back to her, he rolled the apple in the palm of his hand, gathering his courage.

"Lorelai?"

"Yes?"

He stared at the glossy red skin of the apple as it turned in his nimble fingers, not moving to face her.

"Did you want me to kiss you?"

He waited several loud heartbeats for her answer.

"Yes," she finally confessed, her voice not much more than a whisper.

That night, he slept on the floor.

**xXx**

"Play, Daisy," Varric ordered as he lowered his pint.

Merrill chewed her lip pensively, her eyes moving from her hand to the pile of cards at the center of the table. "Oh my, I do wish this game made a bit more sense," she muttered.

"It makes perfect sense," Fenris grumbled. "If one possesses basic intelligence. As a matter of fact, did you not teach Lorelai's Mabari, Jasper, to play?" he asked Varric.

Merrill scowled at Fenris over the tops of her cards. "Would it be terribly difficult for you to keep your barbs to yourself?"

"Devastatingly so," he immediately answered, matching her scowl.

Aveline cleared her throat. "All right, it's a friendly game, here," she said with meaning. "Merrill, if you need any help…"

"No, Aveline, thank you," Merrill said quickly as she finally placed a card.

"We waited nearly ten minutes for you to play a deuce?" Fenris asked in astonishment. "Your command of the inept grows with each passing day."

"And your monotonous bile remains as predictable as always."

The two elves stared at one another for a moment, before Fenris gave a nearly imperceptible nod in her direction.

"We going to finish this round or are you two finally going to kiss?" Varric teased, thoroughly enjoying Merrill's outraged gasp and Fenris' narrowed eyes. "Maker's left nut, man," he said, turning to Donnic who sat at the opposite end of the table. "Play your card and show these elves how it's done!"

Donnic tossed his card down, the ace he dropped spinning atop the pile as it landed. "That ought to end it," he commented with a chuckle.

"Shit," Varric muttered low, tossing his remaining cards onto the table before him. "I hate you, Donnic."

Donnic laughed again and nodded. "I know, dwarf," he answered. "You've one week to get those squatters out of Lirene's back room," he said, reminding Varric of the ante he had upped. "No more or I will clear them out myself, debt or no."

"No worries, no worries," Varric said, raising his hands. "They'll be gone by morning; no need to bring more guards down here than necessary, and I like Lirene, she's always been fair about certain…imports."

"You mean she looks the other way when your illegal shipments arrive," Aveline interjected, arching an eyebrow.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Varric answered smoothly. "I meant she charges a fair price on Fereldan cheeses."

"Right," Aveline drawled.

Donnic sat forward and reached for his pint. "Either way, I appreciate your offer and have no desire to cause a disruption. You bet me you could handle it quietly, and I know you will."

A lull settled among the group, each looking uneasily at the other.

"Fenris," Aveline began, "you do realize returning to the Imperium is idiotic, don't you?"

"As tactful as always, Aveline," Varric grumbled.

Donnic smirked. "You've no idea, dwarf."

"Oh shut it, you two," Aveline snapped good-naturedly. "I'm serious, Fenris. I can't imagine I'm the only one who thinks this is a very grave risk you're taking."

Merrill toyed with the rim of her mug. "He's not a runaway anymore, Aveline," she pointed out. "Fenris should be able to travel where he wishes," she said with a shrug.

Aveline pinned Merrill with a hard look.

"Right," Merrill said sheepishly. "Shutting up."

Fenris looked at his friends and sighed. "I appreciate your candor, Aveline, but I do not wish to simply rely on the aggression of the Coterie to eliminate the abomination. He is too big a threat."

"So you are doing so instead? Why you?" she challenged.

"I owe everything to Hawke," Fenris said firmly. "Have none of you considered what she has done for me? For us all?" he demanded. "Each of us is here, alive and at least moderately happy because of her friendship."

"That's true, elf," Varric agreed. "I don't think any of us forgets that. But I find it hard to believe Lorelai would want you to do this; as a matter of fact, _I_ think she'd do everything to stop you," he stated, tapping his forefinger against the tabletop.

The barmaid, Norah, entered the back room to pass out the next round of ale, and the group remained quiet as she cleared away the empty vessels. Once she'd left, Fenris lifted his mug to his lips and drew a long drink.

"Have none of you considered the one person Sebastian and Varric's story won't fool?" he asked. "The mage will soon hear of the Princess of Starkhaven, and learn of her pregnancy. He will know what a web of lies we've spun, here. Are you all so naïve to think he will not suspect the offspring is his own?" he demanded. "Is it so unreasonable that he may be compelled to seek her out?"

No one answered as Fenris paused, drinking deeply from his pint once again.

"I sent a letter to Sebastian, Fenris," Varric said. "He's not a stooge, he'll make ready for the possible arrival of Anders, whether it's now or in ten years. You need to have faith, we all do."

"I have faith in _dismemberment_," Fenris countered. "When the abomination is dead, then, and only then, will she be truly safe. We owe her that much, even if _I_ am the only one who seems to recognize it," he said sourly.

"Oh, do shut up, Fenris," Aveline snapped. "You do _not_ have exclusive rights to worry about Hawke and her well-being. I love that woman like a sister," she said angrily, her tone heavy with emotion. Donnic placed his hand on hers and she sighed before she continued. "But you don't see me throwing all good sense down the drain, do you? Can you not see that something happening to you would hurt Hawke and the rest of us?"

Fenris set his tankard down and studied its handle. "Hawke will be hurt if we do not act. I cannot be complacent and wai…" he shook his head, blinking several times. "…wait…I…we…" His slurred words stopped as his head dropped onto the table, knocking over his ale.

"Oh, thank the Creators!" Merrill exclaimed as she leapt to her feet and hurried over to Fenris' side.

"That bloody potion took long enough, Varric," Aveline complained as she joined Merrill.

"Sorry, Aveline, I didn't realize you had other plans tonight," Varric quipped as he watched them work.

Merrill turned Fenris' wrist over and straightened his arm, turning it to the light. A moment later she pricked the delicate skin inside his elbow with a tiny lancet, and gathered the blood that dripped from the wound into a small vial.

"Is this enough?" she asked, looking at Donnic as she held up the vial for his inspection.

"Keran said to fill it," Donnic reminded her.

Merrill nodded and collected a little bit more of Fenris' blood as the guardsman watched.

"That should do it," Donnic said, and Merrill immediately applied a soft cloth to the miniscule wound. Aveline grasped Fenris' arm and closed the elbow over the fabric, taking over caring for the unconscious elf.

Merrill closed the vial and held it out to Varric who, turning the candle closest to him at an angle, dribbled wax over the cork, ensuring its seal.

"There," Merrill said as she handed the vial over to Donnic.

"Good. I'll go to Keran right now; he's waiting for me outside of the chantry," he said, referring to the temporary building in Lowtown.

"How long before we get that back? If something goes wrong…" Varric asked, gesturing to Fenris. "Well, needless to say, he won't be too happy if he figures this out."

Donnic nodded. "I've no wish to face him myself, Varric," he agreed. "Only a few hours, he said. He's already made the arrangements," he explained. "Keran is eager to have his debt to Hawke paid in full, especially now that she's disgraced."

Aveline frowned. "Well, disgraced or not, Keran owes her his life. He should be doing this with a smile on his face," she insisted. "Making a phylactery for us is the least he could do."

"Let's just hope we never have to use it," Merrill said quietly, worry on her face.

"I would rather assume that Fenris will have trouble in Tevinter, and for us to be ready for anything," Varric reasoned. "At least this way, if we don't hear from him, we'll be able to track him. No fucking slaver is taking our man, here."

"Not while I'm breathing," Aveline vowed. "You'd better go, my love," she said to Donnic, who, with a nod, excused himself and hurried from The Hanged Man for his rendezvous with the templar, Keran.

Not more than two hours later, Donnic returned, phylactery in hand. He explained that things had gone smoothly and that the templar had showed him how to use the blood to track its owner. "See how it glows so brightly?" he asked. "The closer to Fenris, the brighter it will become."

"From how far?" asked Varric.

"Keran said no more than a day's distance," Donnic answered. "But as we know the general direction Fenris intends to search, my hope is that we can get within the vicinity to make use of this," he reasoned.

"That's not very far," Aveline noted, her brow furrowing in thought.

"Well," Merrill began. "Assuming that he will follow the tips and rumors regarding Anders' direction, if we do the same, it should narrow the search a bit, right? Not that asking about an angry, glowing elf won't do the same."

Aveline sniggered. "Fair point."

"Not bad, Daisy," Varric said with a nod.

Donnic approached Varric and held out the phylactery, but the dwarf shook his head. "Nope, better it stays with you two," he argued. "The Captain of the Guard and her honorable husband are less subject to having templars snooping around their place than a slick-talking dwarf with known ties to mages."

Donnic nodded and slid the precious item into a small pouch on his belt.

With a sigh, Varric pointed at Fenris, who was still slumped onto the table. "Guess we'd better finish this, right?"

Varric stood in the doorway and waved his hand, gaining Norah's attention. Each of them then returned to their original seats and the barmaid hurried in as arranged, delivering a fresh round, including a half-full tankard for Fenris.

Varric noted that the elf's drink looked half-drunk. "Not bad, Norah. It's a good touch."

Norah winked and left the room.

"Showtime, everyone," Varric announced, and he passed out their cards, placing a decidedly bad hand next to Fenris. Donnic chuckled.

Once they were all settled, Varric gave a nod.

"Fenris!" Donnic barked, making Merrill jump. "Sorry," he mouthed in her direction. "Fenris! Your turn!" he bellowed loudly.

The elf began to stir as Donnic again yelled his name.

"Oh, blimey!" Merrill exclaimed and grasped her staff from beside her.

She hoisted the gnarled length and the others gasped in protest just as she brought it down hard on an empty mug next to Fenris, shattering it completely. The force of the blow peppered Fenris with tiny ceramic fragments.

Fenris began to turn his head on the table as she tucked her staff back against the chair beside her. Merrill turned to the others, arching an eyebrow at their odd looks.

"What?" she asked, looking at each of them, realizing what they had thought. "Oh, Creators, you didn't honestly think I was going to _hit_ Fenris, did you?" she queried. "Shame on all of you," she scolded. "I just thought if he had a few other nicks, he won't wonder why he's got a prick on his arm, that's all. Really, you all must think very little of me, to believe I would strike a helpless man."

"I would," Aveline confessed. "Especially if the helpless man took every opportunity he could to insult me. I absolutely would," she said with a smile.

Merrill flashed a wicked grin. "Oh, well, in that case…" she said, lifting her staff once more.

Fenris began to lift his head slightly.

"Damn," Merrill muttered, and settled her staff beside her before scooping up her cards.

Varric laughed and winked at Merrill as Donnic again called out loudly to Fenris.

A moment later, Fenris raised his head off of the table, the texture of its grain leaving crisscrossed marks across his cheek.

"Come on, elf!" Donnic said. "If you cannot handle your drink, at least handle your cards!"

Fenris looked around slowly, his eyes glancing down at the broken mug beside him. He arched an eyebrow before brushing the small shards of ceramic from his forearm and pushing the pile to the side.

"You all right there, Fenris?" Varric asked. "Sorry about that; you got my pint. Funny, Norah never mixes up the drinks. I have to say, though, I'm a bit disappointed in your lack of appreciation for Valenta's Red; it's the best Orzammar has to offer."

Aveline chuckled. "Yes, well, despite the scolding you gave her, I expect the mug regrets it a tad more than she." She gestured to his arm. "Hope you're not hurt."

Fenris turned his arm. "No more than a scratch," he mumbled.

"Stop coddling him, love," Donnic said. "You're upright again, and we're waiting for your play, Fenris."

A bleary-eyed Fenris shifted and picked up his stack of cards. A moment later he carefully placed his selected card.

"A _deuce_?" Merrill commented innocently. "My, my, Valenta's Red seems to have _several_ nasty side-effects, doesn't it?"

"Silence, blood mage," Fenris growled as he rubbed his eyes and sat fully erect in his chair.

As the night turned into morning, the group of friends finished their drinks and game, and their time drew to a comfortable end.

Fenris stood from the table first. "I have a long day ahead of me."

"Yes, we all do," Aveline answered with a stretch. "Although, assuming you still intend to follow through with your asinine plan, I will concede yours will be the longest," she said as she stood and gave her dozing husband's shoulder a shake. Donnic quickly got to his feet.

"Leave off, Aveline," Merrill said softly. "If Fenris wishes to return to the land of his enslavement and risk everything he's struggled to gain, it's his prerogative. We've no right to interfere." She offered Fenris a dazzling smile. "Have a good time, Fenris!"

Fenris scowled but made no comment, instead turning back to Aveline. "My plan is a sound one," he argued. "I will be back."

"Oh, that I guarantee," Aveline said under her breath, her eyes meeting Donnic's.

With a quick smile, Varric reached out and slapped Fenris' shoulder. "Send word, Fenris, and we'll keep our eye on things here. If anything happens, I'll find a way to let you know."

"Agreed." Fenris turned and walked to the entrance of Varric's private room before he paused, looking over his shoulder at his friends. "Farewell, for now."

With that, the warrior elf left The Hanged Man and a few hours later, could be found in Kirkwall no longer.

_**Thank you, Lisa! You put a lot of extra time into this chapter, and really helped me flesh a few key components out, all while sunburnt and worn out. Thanks chick.**_

_**I wish to express my gratitude to each of you for reading, reviewing, and alerting Aftermath. It makes my day that anyone other than myself thinks this tale is worth reading – thank you very much.**_


	13. The Depths of Our Despair

**The Depths of Our Despair**

Marie sat and listened as her three daughters peppered their new friend, Lorelai, with an astounding array of questions.

She had always found the way that adults interacted with children to be a revealing thing, and one thing she'd learned about Lorelai this morning was that she possessed a remarkable amount of patience.

Hannah, Marie's eldest, had not left Lorelai's elbow since the poor woman had boarded their barge after breakfast. Having nearly exhausted the subject of the battle with the Qunari, Hannah had pushed onto other subjects, ranging from what Lorelai thought the texture of a bronto's skin may feel like, to how many apples she could eat, and if that number would vary before or after she fought the Arishok.

Marie had struggled to restrain her laughter at Lorelai's confusion.

Now, Lorelai had ably steered the conversation to include Hannah's younger sisters, Elizabeth, aged four, and Melissande, almost three. While the subject matter still hopped about like a scared rabbit, Lorelai seemed to have settled into a comfortable rapport with the children.

Marie was very impressed. "I think, my loves, that it is time for the women to share a few quiet moments," she suggested, drawing her girls' attention.

"Awwh!" Elizabeth whined, even as she stood to comply.

Melissande looked at Lorelai and smiled sweetly before she came to her feet and fell into step with Elizabeth, who had already crossed the room and was waiting by the door.

Marie met her two girls at the door and opened it, arching an eyebrow at Hannah, who still sat next to Lorelai, a nonchalant look on her features.

"Hannah? Your sisters are waiting," Marie said pointedly.

"I'm sure that Jenny is in the nursery, Mother."

"Then you may walk with them there," Marie explained, her tone firm.

Hannah smiled beautifully at her mother. "Of course. I shall return," she announced as she hurried to the door.

"No, you need to stay with your sisters."

Hannah's face fell. "But Mother, we've a _guest_," she said under her breath, looking back at Lorelai. "She needs to be entertained; she's a very important person, you know. She's The Champion."

"And a princess," Elizabeth added, nodding her head reverently.

Marie met her daughters' concerns with her most solemn face. "Quite right," she agreed. "Thank you, my beauties; I will endeavor not to bore her."

Elizabeth grinned and took Melissande's hand, leading her little sister down the hall of the family quarters.

Hannah seemed uncertain, not wishing to disobey her mother, but not quite ready to relinquish her time with Lorelai. "All right," she sighed. "But please, listen well, Mother; she likes to talk."

Marie smiled and nodded. "I will, and thank you for your advice on the matter."

Hannah finally followed her sisters, and Marie shut the door behind them.

Lorelai laughed at Marie's expression as she stood and moved from the plush carpet where she had been sitting with the Avery children, to the small table that Marie had been seated at.

"She's very much like her father," Lorelai noted.

"Oh, you've no idea," Marie said with a giggle. "She's ridiculously intelligent; they all are, don't misunderstand, but Hannah speaks and interacts with people on such an adult level. There are times I feel as if she's six, going on thirty-six."

"I can see that," Lorelai laughed. "They're all lovely, and Hannah has her father's charm."

"Well, at least the Maker was generous enough to temper it with my tact," Marie observed. "I honestly wouldn't know what to do with _two_ of them."

"I shudder at the very idea," Lorelai quipped.

"As do I," Marie laughed. "Would you like tea?"

Lorelai nodded and Marie walked to pull the small bell rope. A moment later the steward quietly entered the room and Marie requested tea. "Oh, and Jack? Do check on Jenny and the girls. We will not be lunching with them," she requested.

The steward bowed slightly and turned to leave.

Marie came to sit next to Lorelai and sighed. "You handled the girls with ease," she noted.

Lorelai laughed. "They're funny, and easy to talk to. I like their company very much."

"Good," Marie answered. "I think you should expect them to swarm whenever they see you. Hannah is enthralled by you, and what she's mad about, they are, as well. I apologize in advance," she finished with a chuckle.

Lorelai shook her head. "No need, really. I adore children," she commented. "Speaking of which…"

Lorelai's words were interrupted by the arrival of their tea cart. Jack silently maneuvered the trolley to their table and, in a few moments, skillfully arranged their teas along with a small plate of cucumber sandwiches and biscuits before leaving as quietly as he had arrived.

Marie sipped at her tea before replacing it in its saucer. "Speaking of which?" she prodded.

Lorelai nodded as she took a bite of a biscuit. "Forgive me," she mumbled as she quickly swallowed. "Speaking of which, I wished to inquire as to how you were feeling?"

Marie smiled. "Much better, thank you. The worst seems to have passed already."

"Do you always experience illness?" Lorelai queried.

Marie shook her head. "Not always," she admitted. "With Hannah I had almost no symptoms at all, with the exception of detesting anything that had onion in it. With the others, I had more difficulties."

Lorelai nodded. "And by difficulties you mean…?"

"Well, let's see, any number of things actually," Marie began. "With my first, I was thirsty all the time, and at one point, I only wanted to eat peaches. Melissande wasn't too bad," she said after a thoughtful pause. "With Elizabeth, I was very sick until her delivery; that was agony, let me just tell you. I was like a ragdoll most of the time, and Cam was beside himself with guilt."

"That must have been very hard on you all," Lorelai noted. "Especially Hannah."

"It was," Marie agreed with a smile. "But most people wouldn't have thought to consider her. You're a kind woman, Lorelai."

Lorelai smiled softly and sipped her tea.

"So, how far along are you?" Marie asked casually.

Lorelai blinked several times. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I've come to the wrong conclusion," Marie began, "but I was wondering if you were expecting as well?"

Lorelai's eyes fell to the rim of her tea cup. They were quiet for a moment, and Marie shifted in her seat, uncertainty in her brown eyes.

"Forgive me, Lorelai," she said slowly. "I did not mean to be so forward, or to put you ill at ease."

Lorelai finally looked up at Marie and forced a smile, waving her hand. "No. No, I'm fine. I was just surprised you guessed, that's all. I'm sorry," she quickly replied, and nodded. "I suppose you've had a bit of experience in the matter though, so no use hiding things," she finished with a half-hearted grin.

Marie sat forward. "So you are? Pregnant, I mean?"

Lorelai nodded. "I am."

Marie smiled widely, happiness dancing in her expressive eyes. "That's fantastic news! Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Sebastian must be beyond pleased!"

Lorelai felt something inside her heart lurch. "He looks forward to being home," she answered, wishing to not lie.

"How exciting!" Marie gushed. "And so soon, too! Were you very surprised?"

Lorelai couldn't help but laugh, though it lacked real mirth. "Shocked."

Marie sat back, nodding. "I'll bet you were!" she laughed. "Oh my, a honeymoon baby! What a thrill for you both!" she continued. "What did you do when you discovered it? What did Sebastian do?"

Lorelai again forced a smile as she struggled with what to tell Marie. "I cried," she answered with honesty.

"And Sebastian?"

"Seb?" Lorelai repeated quietly, remembering how he'd held her as she'd sobbed. "Well, he was…he was wonderful. He's eager for fatherhood."

"Of course he's eager to be a da!" Marie agreed happily. "Or will he be called papa? Isn't that what Fereldans call the father?" she asked. "Oh, either way, he will make the most amazing father! I can't wait until he tells Cam!"

Lorelai sipped at her tea as Marie excitedly chattered about her thoughts on Cameron's reaction to the as yet unannounced news. She made certain she wore a smile, but even Marie's unabashed excitement couldn't warm her heart to the idea of the baby she carried.

Marie eventually grew quiet and looked at Lorelai, studying her.

"I'm sorry, Lorelai. I didn't mean to get so carried away," she confessed. "It's just, well, Cam and I are quite over the moon about our little brood; we tend to run a bit at the mouth about this sort of thing."

Lorelai nodded.

Marie's smile slipped. "Are you…when you said you were shocked…you are _happy_, aren't you?"

Lorelai closed her eyes. "Of course," she replied in a brittle voice. She opened her eyes and smiled as brightly as she could. "How could I not be?"

**xXx**

Anders had crossed into Nevarra six days earlier, cautiously following the Imperial Highway north. He'd actively avoided any contact with people, but the sparse and barren environment soon forced him to come closer to the travelers of the road.

He'd had the luck of coming across an ambushed caravan three days earlier. He'd been able to recover eleven silver and eight copper from a body left unsearched next to a bramble bush. He also had found a flagon of wine and a few semi-rotten apples with which to ease his hunger.

The wine had been the most significant surprise to him.

He had rarely drunk in the time since he had taken Justice inside of him, so he wasn't shocked that it had gone to his head as quickly as it had. But he'd awoken the next morning having slept the night through, and he'd done so without dreaming of Lorelai.

It was an extraordinary relief from his agony, and he'd settled himself into sleep the last two nights using the wine as his comfort.

Today he'd reached the Minanter River, finding a shanty town under the massive bridge of the Imperial Highway. He'd visited a pathetic tavern at first light and purchased some basic rations and two bottles of cheap wine. He was now waiting in a narrow alley for darkness to fall before he dared to cross its expanse.

Thoughts of Lorelai had continued to plague him, despite the eight weeks since he'd left her behind.

His heart seemed to sneak up on him with its need for her. He would walk silently for hours, able to not consider her, to not wonder where she was, how his child grew, when, suddenly, he would hear her voice in his head, and he would fall apart.

As he waited for night to come, he considered drinking some of his newly-bought wine to distract himself until he could travel again, but distraction came in the form of a group entering the alley he was sitting in.

He scooted closer to the rotten crates he was behind as he spied a group of four humans approaching him.

"What have we here?" asked a male voice.

Anders could hear the hostility in the man's tone, so while he looked up and made solid eye contact, he did not rise. "Can I help you?"

The group watched him, and Anders sensed they were sizing him up.

"That's a nice coat," commented one of them.

"Thank you," Anders replied.

"Can I have it?" the thug asked.

"No."

The four exchanged looks and collectively stepped closer to where Anders was crouched. "We think you should give it to Donovan," the first man announced venomously, pointing to one of his cohorts.

"Fuck off," Anders growled, slowly coming to his feet, staff in hand.

Donovan laughed. "Make us!"

Anders opened the Fade and the four men were instantly thrown back several feet.

"Fucker's a mage!" moaned one of them as they each slowly came to their feet.

Anders braced and prepared to defend himself when a woman appeared at the mouth of the alley. "Do you cunts always have to cause trouble?" she asked loudly as she strode toward Anders.

She was tall and pale-skinned, her hair an unnatural red color and closely cropped, and was dressed to show off her ample bosom. She had what was clearly an amateur's tattoo on her left cheek and the darkest, most hardened eyes Anders had ever seen.

She smiled at him. "Good afternoon," she said politely. "Please forgive my men here," she began. "I'm afraid their mamas didn't teach them any manners. I'm Celia, and these idiots work for me."

Anders looked her up and down, his posture still tense.

"Say sorry to the nice _apostate_, boys!" Celia demanded, still watching Anders.

With a few muttered curses, each man called out 'sorry' and Celia smiled again. "See? They're not so bad," she said in a sweet tone.

Anders nodded. "You have my thanks for your intervention," he drawled. "You saved their lives."

Celia sniggered. "So, you're a mage?"

He frowned. "Have a problem with that?" he challenged.

"Oh no," she answered quickly. "Not in the least. As a matter of fact, I have a business proposition for you, assuming you can heal, _and_ assuming you're interested."

Anders stooped to pick up his satchel. "I can, and I'm _not._" He moved past her and approached the end of the alley.

"Wait!" she called and hurried to stand in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Just hear me out, will you? I need a capable mage who isn't afraid of a fight," she said quickly. "I'm tracking a rival group who are hoping to loot a set of ruins a few weeks walk from here. Their bastard leader stole my map from me," she explained.

"Good luck," he said and tried to push past her.

"Wait! Stop!" she pleaded. "Listen, I'm looking at you; you're hard up, I can see it. When was the last time you really ate or bathed? Where are you going?"

He narrowed his eyes. "None of your business."

"Why so prickly? Let me guess, a woman? She leave you?" she asked quickly. "Let someone else fuck her?"

Anders shoved her hard, bouncing her off the wall, and he left the alley.

To his extreme annoyance, she was hot on his heels.

"Still touchy, I get it," she stated. "I need a mage, and I can pay you. I can pay you two sovereigns to come with us; we'll feed you and when we kill that fucker that betrayed me…" She rushed as she again came to stand in front of Anders, blocking his path. "…when we kill the fucker, I'll give you five percent of the treasure we pull from the ruin."

"No. Now, move!" he ordered, brushing past her, his shoulder bumping her.

"There's templars here, you know!" she called from behind him. "A whole bloody score of them, moving through here from Hunter's Fell to Kirkwall."

He stopped and turned quickly to face her, advancing on her. She was forced to backpedal until she was backed up against the wooden wall of a shanty. "Where are they?" he demanded.

Celia smiled coldly. "Not telling," she said softly. She raised her hand and touched his cheek. "Look, you're a sweet piece, just what I need, and you clearly need…"

He slapped her hand away. "You don't know anything about what I _need_," he snarled.

She raised her chin. "Don't I? I've seen all kinds. You're here for some reason, just like the rest of us," she replied. "Nobody comes without some kind of sob story and I don't give a _shit_ what yours is, but I need a mage," she said in a reasonable tone.

She smiled. "It's easy money, and the ruin is miles from anything else; no templars where I'm going. Looking at you…" She narrowed her eyes, taking in his gaunt cheeks and matted hair. "…You don't seem to have anything else going for you, anyway."

He glared but did not turn to go.

"You come with me and my boys and I'll kill every Chantry piss-ant that comes within fifty feet of you," she vowed. "You fight, you heal us, and when we get done, you can go, gold in hand."

Anders' nostrils flared. "Where are these ruins?" he finally asked.

She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Not telling that, either. But it's nowhere near a chantry _or_ a Circle."

He pulled back and she stepped away from the wall.

"I can pay you, I can feed you, and I can protect you," she offered. "And I wouldn't say no to fucking you, either," she said in a low voice as her hand sneaked out and roughly cupped his manhood. "You won't find a better offer anywhere."

He surged forward, jarring her against the wall once more. "_Don't touch me again_," he growled, murder in his eyes.

Her face fell and she quickly removed her hand. "Fine, but the offer stands. Money, protection and my snatch, if you want it," she said matter-of-factly. "We're camped south of the road, this side of the river. Be there in the morning if you want the damned job."

She walked away, and he returned to the alley.

Night fell and eventually the traffic on the bridge ceased. Anders stood at the foot of the enormous bridge where the Imperial Highway crossed the Minanter River. He stepped forward, his worn and split leather boots scraping the stone, determined to cross and continue his journey to the Imperium.

As the dawn turned the night sky purple, he walked off the bridge. He moved away from the heavily-traveled roadway, and an hour later he entered Celia's camp.

Celia stood up from her seat by her group's fire, grabbing a bowl off a log and ladling porridge from a cauldron suspended over it. Wordlessly, she held it out to Anders.

He stared at it briefly before snatching it from her hand and stalked to the farthest side of the camp, before he settled down on a tree stump to eat.

**xXx**

"Marie put together I'm pregnant," Lorelai announced as the newlyweds settled in for the evening.

The barges had spent a portion of the morning and evening side by side, anchors dropped, to allow for Lorelai's visit with Marie, and Sebastian and Cameron time to confer on the upcoming meeting with the MacDonald family.

Sebastian's head snapped up from the papers he was reviewing while sitting at the desk in their room.

"It's fine," she continued casually. "I should have realized that someone who's pregnant for the fourth time may have had her curiosity piqued by my questions."

His eyebrows drew together. "What did she say?"

She shrugged and walked to the side of the desk, resting her hip against it. He reached out and drew her around its corner, so that she was standing in front of him. He clasped her hands in his and looked up at her.

"What did she say?"

She sighed. "'Hooray', among other things," she said sadly. "She was thrilled for me, thrilled for you, thrilled to hear what Cameron would say, whenever he would say it."

He nodded. "Ah, so she was thrilled," he quipped with a slow smile.

She met his smile with a half-hearted one of her own. "Something like that, anyway."

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"Why didn't you kiss me?" she whispered.

She watched his posture tense, and felt his hand become stiff in hers before he released it, pushed back the chair and stood, stepping past her.

"Seb," she began, but he cut her off.

"Did Marie offer you any advice? As you said, this is her fourth child," he asked, his back to her, running his fingers along the wood of the sideboard.

She rolled her eyes, trying to restrain her annoyance with him for avoiding her question.

"Yes, she said I should follow my instincts regarding what food or drink I may begin to crave," she recalled. "I should avoid certain potions for pain, and excess drink, that sort of thing."

"All good things to know. I shall have to tell Cam, I expect he will be…"

"…Thrilled?" she offered, relieved to hear him laugh softly.

"Something like that," he answered, his back still to her.

Slowly she approached from behind him and stopped. "Marie asked me how you had taken the news," she ventured. "I hadn't thought about it before, what you felt when I told you, but whatever it was, you were a comfort to me. You still are."

He leaned forward and braced the palms of his hands on the sideboard.

"What _did_ you feel, Sebastian, when I told you?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer.

She closed her eyes, regret washing over her as she realized she was pushing for more than he was prepared to reveal. With a nod, she stepped back and turned to the bed, lifting her shawl from the foot of it. Quietly, she wrapped herself into it and walked toward the door.

"Rage."

She stopped, her hand suspended above the knob of the door. She looked back at him and waited.

"I felt rage, Lorelai, if you must know," he continued, his voice flat and cold, his hands clenching tightly into white-knuckled fists. He turned to face her, and she saw such agony in his eyes that she gasped.

"Monstrous, blinding, _unholy_ rage. I wanted to cut his throat, for what he'd done," he seethed. "I wanted to bleed him dry, to watch him suffer and die when the chantry fell. He _murdered_ the woman who had been like a mother to me, after my _own_ family tossed me aside! He destroyed my home; how did I _feel_ when you told me?"

He stepped forward before he rocked back, slamming his heeled boot against the sideboard, jarring it so forcefully that the heavy unit collided with the wall, and the stacked fruit that had sat atop it rolled off, thudding one by one onto the wooden floor.

"I felt like a bloody failure, Lorelai!" he yelled. "He used you, he _violated_ you and you…you…_let_ him!"

He bunched his fists and shook his head, breathing deeply. "I should have killed him when he murdered that poor girl in the tunnels under The Gallows! I should have protected you, whether you wanted me to or not!"

She gaped, astonished that he felt any guilt for _her_ transgressions. "Sebastian, no!" she argued, rushing to him. "You didn't know what he was capable of, any more than I did!"

"Wrong," he whispered, looking down at her. "You didn't want to see it, and Maker help me, I didn't want to be the cause of your pain, but if I'd had any bloody courage at all he would have died long ago and _none_ of this would have happened."

"No," she said, placing her hands on his face. "No, you are the most courageous man I've ever known, Seb; you've given up everything for me," she whimpered. "Please, please, do not take any of the blame for what he's done," she begged.

His blue eyes held hers as he sagged against the sideboard. "I have loved you for so long, Lorelai," he confessed sadly. "I swear to you, he will never get near you again. I will never be complacent with your safety; I will _never_ fail you again."

Lorelai's heart cried out at his pain. "But you didn't fail me!" she argued, caressing his face, desperate to soothe him. "Never, Sebastian; you have never failed me," she said softly as she closed the small space between them and kissed him.

He immediately pulled back. "Darlin'," he whispered, his expressive eyes reflecting his turmoil.

"Kiss me," she whispered, her lips against his bronzed skin. "Kiss me, please Sebastian, please kiss me," she pleaded, her voice cracking with heartbreak as she feathered kisses over his chin and jaw line. "Please, kiss me back."

His arms suddenly wrapped around her, pulling her hard against him as he finally heeded her pleas.

His lips found hers and she flung her arms around his neck, raking her fingers through his hair. She moaned at the feel of his mouth on hers, her desire to taste him all-consuming.

He deepened the kiss and she felt her heart take its first, joyful beat in nearly two months. Their need to find solace in one another was undeniable and, as his warm tongue grazed her dry lips, she felt her knees weaken as she sensed the depth of his want.

As he broke the kiss, she nearly fell to the floor. He cradled her to him, kissing her forehead, temple and chin as he panted hard, her own breath coming out in gasps.

She leaned against him, her face tilted up as he looked down at her. With a gentle smile, she pushed up and kissed him again.

His hands traveled to the small of her back, and she could feel their strength as he splayed them there, holding her to him. His kiss was a riot of controlled passion and unmet need; she wanted to dive into him, to forget everything but what he was making her feel.

Gathering his shirt in her hands she began to lift it up, desperate to feel the texture of his skin under her fingertips.

He gasped, and, breaking the kiss, pushed her gently back.

"Seb," she moaned, reaching up to kiss him again, but he cupped her cheeks and rested his forehead against hers.

"Seb," she whimpered, pressing herself against him. "Touch me."

"No, Lorelai," he rasped. "You've no idea how hard this is, but no," he panted as he lifted his head, his eyes on hers.

He could read the hurt and confusion in her eyes, and felt her tension tighten her body.

"Can you understand? I will not have you regret me," he whispered to her. "I want you more than I have wanted _any_ other woman, but I need your heart more. I want you to love me, darlin'. When I take you, it will be when you're _mine_ to take."

His words softened the hurt he'd seen in her eyes a moment before, and, as they both recovered, he felt her relax against him.

"Lorelai?" he asked a few moments later. "You understand, don't you?"

He felt her nod and he buried his nose in her fragrant hair.

"I didn't mean to push so hard, before, I mean," she said softly. "I underestimated what Anders has done to you, too. I'm sorry."

He rubbed her back in languid circles. "He cannot do anything more to us, Lorelai. It's _our_ life now."

"Thank you for telling me everything. I know it was difficult."

He chuckled and sighed. "You mean thank you for screaming at you and having a fit," he teased.

"That, and for finally kissing me," she answered with a tender smile. He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and kissed her again.

"Darlin'?" he muttered against her lips.

"Mmm?"

"Will you find the steward? I wish to take a bath," he said. "A cold one."

With a giggle, she kissed him one last time and nodded. "Two. I'll ask for two."

_**Thank to Lisa! And thank you for the wonderfully sexy and fun one-shot you put together about Cameron and Sebastian in their wild youth. Check it out if you get a chance folks, it's on my profile and will have you in stitches!**_

_**I am so grateful to all of you for taking the time to read, review, and alert Aftermath. I thank you and wish everyone in the US a very Happy Fourth of July, and wish all a great weekend!**_


	14. In the Pudding Club

**In the Pudding Club**

Sebastian stood at the bow of Cameron's sloop, his eyes cast on the sinking sun. They had spent the entire day in conversation, he and Cameron, formulating their approach when meeting Lord MacDonald, and now, as the day drew to its close, the captains were maneuvering their ships slowly through the shoals, intent on mooring outside of the inlet to the MacDonald estate.

Once tied and their anchors dropped, Sebastian would return to the sloop he had borrowed from Kenneth Smythefield, and to Lorelai.

_Lorelai,_ he thought, his eyes wandering to the ship behind them.

It had been four days since their first kiss, and his heart still leapt inside his chest at the memory.

Tomorrow he and his bride would join the Averys as guests of the MacDonald familyand it would be her first 'performance' as Princess of Starkhaven. He knew Lorelai was nervous, but he also knew there was little more he could do to ease her mind.

She had studied every piece of information that Cameron had offered, and had committed to memory the intricate political ties the MacDonalds shared with other noble families, along with having plied Marie with dozens of questions about Lady MacDonald. She was ready and he knew it, but regardless of his assurances, she did not.

Tomorrow could not come soon enough for either of them; for Lorelai because she would find success, and in it, her confidence, and for himself, his first public declaration of his intent to rule his lands.

Despite his faith in his wife, and his confidence regarding his position with the MacDonalds, he felt anxiety attempting to curl its cold fingers around him. Undaunted, he refused to submit; fear and worry would be of little benefit, and he would not allow himself to indulge in self-doubt. Closing his eyes, he began to pray silently and he felt his sense of peace return.

"So, we spent all bloody day talkin' about allegiances, debt and power, yet apparently I've been left out of the most important conversation," interrupted a voice from behind him.

Sebastian turned to see Cameron approaching him, a sly grin on his face.

"Were you goin' to tell me, man, or did you think to leave me the last to know?"

"And what is it that I've neglected telling you?" Sebastian asked his lifelong friend as he arrived by his side.

Cameron laughed. "That Lorelai's in the pudding club? That she drank from the well? Maker's left nut, lad, you're to be a da!" he said loudly, clapping Sebastian soundly on the back. "Well done, pal! I knew your wee soldiers would take the field, once you remembered how to deploy them! You _did_ remember, then? Or did Lorelai have to show you?"

Sebastian grinned widely, shaking his head. "Well, thank you, and no, Lorelai's not had to _show_ me," he laughed.

"Och, good. I'd hate to think those nights educatin' you at the Glove were wasted," Cameron said dryly.

Sebastian snorted. "_You_ educated _me_?" he scoffed as Cameron shrugged. "…Pudding club?"

"Up the spout, wearing her apron high, in the family way," Cameron elaborated, waggling his eyebrows. "I've gathered a few phrases for referring to pregnancy, Seb, since I seem to be rather prolific. I'm happy for you, pal, it's an amazin' thing, being a father; my lassies are my heart and soul."

Sebastian nodded, looking aside. "I can see that, Cam," he said quietly. "If Lorelai and I can have even half the joy you and Marie do in your brood, we will be blessed indeed."

"How far along is she?" Cameron asked, relaxing against the side of the ship.

"Enough to know," Sebastian answered casually. "We were told to expect the baby in Drakonis."

"Hannah's birth was the fourteenth of Drakonis," Cameron said. "It's a good time for firsts, not too hot or cold, and Lorelai should be comfortable through most of the seasons; she's already missed the hottest time of the year," he finished thoughtfully.

"Are you sure you're interested in being my advisor, Cam? You would make a fine midwife," Sebastian joked with a chuckle.

"Shut it, numpty, or I won't be sharing the most valuable bits of my considerable knowledge."

Sebastian couldn't contain his grin. "Which are?"

"I'm not telling yet, pal, but just you wait," Cameron said, arching an eyebrow. "When your wife is the size of a small bronto, and she asks you if she's fat, you'll be mighty glad that you've got ol' Cam by your side, to help you navigate those treacherous, shark-infested waters."

The prince shook his head, a smirk on his face. "She won't be fat; it will be the babe…"

"…Wrong answer, pal, because you're still confirming that she's as big as a settee," Cameron interrupted. "You have to answer _without _answering, you see?"

Sebastian simply stared at Cameron, to which Cameron barked out a laugh.

"Have no fear, Seb, I will aid you, I swear it," he pledged. "And when she's gotten far enough along, I can suggest a few positions to keep things, uh, let's say, satisfactory for you both," he said in a conspiratorial tone.

"Cameron, I'm not needing your…"

"…Wrong answer again, my friend, but soon enough you will be beggin' me to share my vast and learned knowledge," Cameron countered to which Sebastian could only shake his head.

After a moment, Cameron cleared his throat. "I'm happy for you, Seb, you will be a good father," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "It's an answered prayer to see you with a clear direction, to see you settled on your path; and now you've a family to walk it with you."

Sebastian nodded. "Not to mention a midwife guiding my reign," he quipped.

Cameron sniggered. "Arsehole," he said with a laugh. "Come, let's go toast the littlest Vael, we can raise a glass in the hope you've managed to put the stem on the apple," and he led Sebastian below to the salon.

**xXx**

The villagers had made a point of avoiding him, Fenris knew, but their eyes followed him as he departed the small cropping of buildings, leaving their squalid homes behind him.

Again he'd found no trace of Anders, and he had not thought to gain any knowledge here, but it did not keep his frustration from flashing across his skin.

For almost two weeks, now, he had been walking the roads toward the Imperium, stopping at each town, village, and farm house to politely inquire about the renegade mage, and his efforts had yielded him almost nothing.

Almost.

Six days ago, his meanderings had led him to a modest crofter's hut, and, to his pleasant surprise, it had been the home of a human farmer and his elven wife. They had been the most receptive people he had queried, and they had welcomed him to their table, sharing a meager but flavorful meal.

It was during their conversation that the farmer, Patrick, had thoughtfully paused, interrupting his own story.

"You know, Fenris," he had said slowly. "My herding boy, Albert, he complained that some of the taller grasses by a cropping of rocks on my back pasture had been flattened. I didn't give it much thought at the time, but if you're searching for a man who doesn't wish to be found, well, there's little to that land except grazing grass."

The elven wife had nodded. "Yes, that area is rather remote, but there's nothing to survive on, husband. No fruit trees, no berry bushes, nothing. We cleared it of all that years ago; camping out there would be difficult."

"Yes, but it would certainly allow one to travel _without_ being seen, except by a cow."

"Show me where, please," Fenris had politely but firmly requested.

"I'm meeting a horse trader here, this afternoon," Patrick had said. "But Albert will take you."

A few hours later, his pack generously replenished with corncakes and a flask of ale, Fenris had stood among the rocks, his eyes searching the ground.

"Mister Patrick said you were free to search the property," Albert had stated from behind him. "The boundary of their lands is…" he pointed to the distant horizon, "…about an hour's walk that way. There's a marker. Their neighbor, Mister Hines isn't very friendly, especially toward elves; watch yourself."

Fenris had grunted his thanks, and the lad had left him alone.

Now, six days later, Fenris was as certain that it had indeed been Anders who had trampled the grass as when he'd originally examined the ground. He had found no real evidence, other than the condition of the grass and a few dried out boot impressions, but his gut told him it was the abomination – he _knew_ it.

The most important thing he had gained from his findings was a better understanding of how the mage was moving. Fenris had been successful in finding other subtle indications of movement far from the roads: a small fire pit, discarded apple cores behind a cluster of trees, but nothing had yet to be found in any town.

The abomination did not seem to be traveling out in the open; he was, clearly and wisely, staying away from towns and people. It was making Fenris' quest for him that much more difficult, for the scale of the search had nearly doubled, but the warrior would leave no stone unturned.

It would be slow, but diligence would reward him with more information; diligence would reward his weary body with purpose. Diligence would protect Hawke.

_Hawke_, he thought, his frown growing fiercer at the thought of her, burdened with a demon growing in her womb, fearing what was to come.

Diligence would yield him the satisfaction of pulling the abomination's heart from his chest.

Fenris stepped from the road and moved toward the woods, determined to search for clues while the light was with him.

**xXx**

"I'm worried for them, Varric," Merrill said quietly as she shifted in her chair at Varric's reserved table.

The Hanged Man was nearly deserted, the reconstruction of Hightown having provided many of the typical patrons a desperately-needed job.

"Who?"

"All of them, Varric, it's as if we've all been scattered to the winds," she observed morosely.

"Daisy," Varric began, reaching out to place his gloved hand over her small one. "Everything's going to work out; we just have to give it time."

"Really? How so, do you think? Fenris is hunting Anders, Lorelai is being hunted by assassins, Sebastian is facing who knows what in Starkhaven while he tries to keep her safe," she paused, sighing. "Do you know the thing of it, though? What the strangest thing is? I'm worried about Anders the most."

"Merrill, why the hell are you worried about _him_?"

Merrill flushed and she blinked rapidly. "It's not that I'm wishing him well, Varric, I'm not. It's just that, well, thinking on it a bit, I think maybe Anders didn't see the changes in him that we saw."

"Bullshit," Varric snapped. "You know what Hawke told me? She told me that he warned her to stay away from him."

"Yes, but still…"

"He _knew_ what he was," Varric continued, interrupting the elf. "He sure as hell knew what he was doing, and unless I've completely lost my senses, that wasn't exactly regret in his tone, yelling at Meredith that day. You heard him; he removed any chance of compromise."

Merrill frowned. "He was motivated by his convictions," she argued.

Varric gave Merrill a harsh look. "You know the only difference between a man of conviction and a terrorist, Merrill? _The_ _body_ _count_."

She gaped at him before she slowly nodded.

"Don't let who we thought he _was_, convince you that who he _is_ is anything less than a killer, Merrill. Don't make the same mistake twice."

"Right," Merrill whispered. "Still, Varric, he was our friend."

"Was he?" he challenged. "Or did he just use us all to stay out of The Gallows, to get what he wanted?"

Merrill's eyes flashed. "No, I don't think he did, not all the time, anyway," she countered. "Besides, what has he now? Nothing, that's what," she said. "He's alone, Varric."

"Daisy, don't you get it? He was _always_ alone," he said, shaking his head sadly. "Nothing we ever did for him, or said to him would have changed that. I don't think we could have changed any of this."

"You don't think he loved her, then?"

"I don't know," he answered softly. "It's nice to think he did, but look at what he was willing to do to her. He used her, and I think he always intended to," he explained. "I don't know if Anders is capable of being anything more than what he became once he joined with the spirit."

He picked up his mug and looked at the bubbles moving within the amber liquid.

"Nothing's changed for him, Merrill, and now he's heading to the Imperium," he said, tapping the side of the mug, making the bubbles scatter. "He'll be the most powerful mage there, what with that thing powering him up. If he's crowing about the murder of the Grand Cleric, the destruction of the Circle, then before long he'll be a Magister, an important one. He'll have apostates flocking to him."

She furrowed her brow. "I just can't see that, Varric, I can't. You heard him condemn me for using blood magic; I don't believe he would resort to it. He seemed to genuinely struggle with Justice, he didn't wish for notoriety," she reasoned. "I just keep wondering how much of Anders is Anders, and how much of Justice is Anders."

"Does it matter?"

Her large eyes met his small ones and she nodded once.

"Yes, Varric. It does."

**xXx**

Sebastian returned to the sloop he shared with Lorelai after several toasts to his unborn child, his heart lighter than it had been in over a month. It had been wonderful to celebrate the baby, and he'd found comfort in Cameron's ramblings about fatherhood.

His footsteps were solid, more so than he expected considering the nearly-five snifters of brandy he'd had. He'd not been drunk in nearly fifteen years, and he felt remarkably carefree.

Cautiously navigating the unusually-wobbly hall, he reached their bedroom door, and the familiar butterflies in his stomach took flight, knowing Lorelai waited within.

Opening the door, his blue eyes sought her out, and he smiled at seeing her sitting in the center of the bed, plaiting her long hair.

"Aye, now there's a beautiful sight," he drawled as he entered.

She grinned widely. "Hello there. Beautiful? Me or the bed? I know it's been a long day for you."

"You _in_ my bed," he answered unabashedly, and then stopped dead in his tracks. "Bollocks, I shouldn't have said that."

Lorelai laughed, tying off the end of her braid. "Sebastian Vael, have you come home drunk?"

"Princes don't get drunk, lass, they get _intoxicated_."

She giggled. "Oh! Forgive me, Your Highness. Have you come home intoxicated?"

He sat down heavily on the desk chair, reaching down for his boots. "I have!" he announced with a laugh. "Cam has some very fine brandy, woman, and we celebrated my heir."

Her smile faltered briefly, but returned readily as she scooted to the end of the bed, her long legs dangling over the side.

"And what did Cameron have to say about your heir?"

He began to fumble with the top buckle of his glossy black boots. "He said many good things, he is very happy for us, Lorelai," he finished before sitting back up and shooting the buckle a nasty look.

"Should you really have celebrated as much as you did? Will you be fit for tomorrow's meetings, Seb?" Lorelai asked as she crossed to the sideboard and poured a goblet of water out, bringing it to the desk and placing it by his elbow.

Sebastian chuckled. "_Now_ you sound like a wife," he teased. She smiled in return. "I'll be fine, Lorelai, never fear. If I can just get out of these blasted boots, I will clean up and sleep like a newborn babe."

She laughed again and knelt down in front of him, her loose nightgown pooling around her. "I can help with that, at least," she said as she opened the buckle and loosened the boot.

He stared in fascination at her, noting the freckles that dusted her nose, the shine to her hair. He wanted to feel those silken strands slide through his fingers. She finished her task and moved to his other boot, making quick work of it and tugging it off his leg.

She placed the palms of her hands on the tops of his knees, preparing to stand, and her eyes slowly traveled his body, until meeting his eyes. A gentle smile pulled at her lips, lips he knew were soft and warm. "All done."

He sat forward, closing the distance between them. "Thank you," he whispered.

She pushed herself up, and she looked down at him, standing between his knees. "You're rather handsome when you're intoxicated," she teased as she tousled his hair.

He leaned closer, resting his head against her middle, his arms wrapping around her waist. She stroked his hair, running her fingers down his neck.

"I love your touch," he confessed, glancing up at her. He blushed and smiled. "I probably shouldn't have told you that either."

She bit her lip, grinning at him. "I don't mind," she said softly. "You can tell me anything, Sebastian."

"Can I?" he rasped, sliding his hands down her hips, pulling her against him. "I've already told you I love you, haven't I?"

"Yes," she answered, gasping as he ran his hands down her legs and back up again.

"I should not have burdened you with that."

"Knowing you love me is wonderful, not a burden," she argued softly. "I want your love, and I wish to love you in return, but it's still so…hard."

He nodded, his eyes serious. "I know, Lorelai, I know."

With a heavy sigh, she slowly pushed herself back and he stood.

"So, my intoxicated prince," she said lightly as he began walking toward the privacy screen. "Did anything else happen today, save Cameron plying you with whiskey?"

"Brandy, lass, it was brandy," he called out from behind the screen.

"Right, brandy."

"He's a man who likes to hear himself talk," he began, "so of course…damn it!" he cried out as the privacy screen shuttered and wobbled, nearly toppling before she heard a resonating crash.

"Seb!" she yelled as she hurried around the screen to find Sebastian sitting on the floor, his breeches tangled around his ankles.

She burst into laughter. "Oh! Are you alright?" she asked as she got down next to him, pulling at the twisted leg of the breeches. "How did you manage to get this so turned around?"

"I'm not sure," he grumbled before he, too, began to laugh.

"Let me help you, okay?" she requested, and, without waiting for his consent, she began untying his leggings and pulled him free of his breeches. Scooting closer, she unlaced the ties at the neck of his shirt, and began to push it up his chest.

"Cameron did have a few interesting things to share," he rasped, his voice husky. She was mere centimeters away from him and he could smell the scent of the lavender oil she used on her skin.

She looked up, her gaze meeting his, and he saw heat flare in her green eyes.

"Interesting things, you say?" she repeated softly. "About?"

He reached out and cupped her chin, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "How I can please you in bed when you're heavy with the babe," he said hoarsely, and then moaned, his head dropping back to the wood floor. "Now that, I _definitely_ shouldn't have said."

"Sebastian," she said with a sly grin. "I think maybe you're more than a _bit_ intoxicated."

He pulled her over him, so that she lay with him. "Aye, darlin', I'm spellbound. Maker, woman, I need to kiss you."

She melted against him; her chest pressed to his as he pushed up slightly and grasped her, pulling her knees over his waist. Hungrily their mouths met, and they kissed, the menagerie of emotions fueling their urgency.

She dug her fingers into his thick hair, plastering her body to his as their kisses consumed them. This time, he did not protest when her hands traveled his torso, tangling in his chest hair, nor did she when he held her hips and pressed himself up against her.

He kissed her throat as she breathed in his ear, her arms sliding around his neck. "Seb," she moaned softly.

His strong hands caressed her, stroking her length until their kisses slowed and she rested her forehead against his, smiling sensually down at him.

"Seb," she whispered, kissing his lips lightly. "Don't say you probably shouldn't have done that."

He shook his head. "Never," he answered, kissing her again.

**xXx**

Dawn came very early for the Prince of Starkhaven, despite the tender ministrations of his attentive wife.

Their kisses had ceased before they'd carried them too far, and Lorelai had helped Sebastian into their bed. He'd curled her against his chest, and had promptly fulfilled his vow that he would sleep like a newborn babe.

He'd done just that, but as he slowly opened his crusty eyes to blink at the harsh light coming through their porthole, he remembered that newborn babies did not typically consume brandy, nor did they have important political allies to meet with, and he realized the flaw in his plan.

"Maker have mercy," he muttered as he began to shift, his body feeling stiff and his back sore. "Ow!" he grunted as he tried to sit up.

Lorelai, who was seated at the desk, looked up and grimaced. "Oh Seb, are you all right?" she asked, coming to her feet quickly and crossing to the bed. "You fell onto your back last night, when you were changing," she explained as she sat down next to him, her cool hands running down his back.

"I remember. Ouch!" he repeated as her fingers found a welt on his lower back.

"Sorry," she said hastily. "I can get you a cold cloth for it. Maybe the MacDonalds have a healer?"

"No," he rasped. "It'll be fine, darlin', I've had worse, as you well know. I just need to stretch it out."

She watched him for a moment, and then nodded.

Sebastian pulled himself slowly out of the bed and stretched, raising his arms high above his head. As Lorelai watched, he smiled down at her. "I wonder how Cam is feeling this morning?" he wondered.

She giggled and shook her head. "Was he as tipsy as you?" she asked then paused, raising her hand. "Wait, sorry, intoxicated," she corrected with a cheeky grin.

"He was drunk, very drunk when I left," he answered. He looked down at her and his blue eyes changed. "Lorelai, last night, when I kissed you…"

She stood up and came to stand directly in front of him. "Yes?"

"If I was too forward, I beg your forgiveness," he said meekly. "I know we've kissed before, but last night…I didn't mean to be so presumptuous. I apologize."

Lorelai's green eyes narrowed. "Sebastian, let me be perfectly clear with you. You can, from this point forward, presume I want you to kiss me. I thought you were wonderfully fun last night and I liked seeing you so relaxed," she said. "In fact, I wish you'd be so with me more often."

His face was unreadable to her, and he looked down at the floor.

She realized suddenly why he was so unsure of himself: he had been struggling to keep his own feelings in check while she had buckled under the weight of her heartbreak.

She understood him then, his second-guessing of their growing relationship. She hadn't shared with him the fact that, in the time since she had begged him to shield her from anything to do with Anders, she had begun to settle much of the unrest within her heart.

"Seb, I know that I've been nothing short of a genuine mess," she began softly. "But I'm better now, and I mean what I say. Anders is gone, Seb, and while I won't delude myself into thinking that I'll ever forgive him, I have let him go. I don't love him, not any longer."

Slowly, his eyes met hers and she offered him a sincere smile.

"So…you can _presume_. Actually, I rather like it when you do," she confessed.

"You do?" he questioned, his eyes searching hers.

"I do," she promised and then blushed, quickly changing the subject. "Now, if you're done stretching and apologizing for nothing, we'd best get ready for our day with Lord MacDonald and company. I'm so anxious I can hardly breathe," she admitted, placing her hand on her still-slender middle as she drew a ragged breath.

"Darlin', I will be right there with you, every step of the way. You are not alone."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I know," she answered as he turned to walk to the changing screen. He disappeared from her sight and she listened to the sounds of his movements as he began to dress. "I know," she whispered, quietly thanking the Maker for allowing the Prince of Starkhaven to come into her life.

_**Sorry for the delay in updates, I've been traveling!**_

_**Thank You Lisa! I appreciate your super beta on a not so super day, I'm grateful.**_

_**Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and alerting. I smile like a loon when I read your thoughts, and I thank you for taking the extra time to share them. Thank you!**_


	15. The Thunder Rolls

**The Thunder Rolls**

The outskirts of Starkhaven were just beginning to show on the horizon, and Lorelai craned her neck, eager for a better view.

Sebastian and Cameron were pacing behind her, her presence unnoticed. Deep in conversation, their tones were serious and low, the wind carrying away their words before she could catch them.

They would not enter the heart of the city today, despite Lorelai's eagerness to finally see the validity of the rumors of its beauty and wealth. In fact, Sebastian and Cameron did not want to make the Prince's presence known to all just yet; instead, the party would make landfall at Cameron and Marie's estate, and Sebastian would then send a formal declaration to Goran.

Of course, rumors had surely reached the city-state by now, but Sebastian wanted the chance to enter Starkhaven on his own terms; he wanted to control their reception and the potential interference of Goran Vael's government as much as possible. How Goran would react to Sebastian's return was still anyone's guess, although the consensus of those Sebastian had met with was that Goran would step aside easily.

Regardless, Sebastian was proceeding with caution.

Over the last three weeks, and starting with the MacDonald family, Cameron had deftly handled Sebastian's reintroduction into the high society of Starkhaven. Through a series of calculated visits to the nobles and the few key wealthy merchants that held homes or estates along the river - those who normally resided in, or conducted business within Starkhaven - Sebastian had delicately begun to reveal his plans for ascending his throne.

Most of the meetings had been treated as informally as possible, with Marie, the Avery brood, and Lorelai accompanying the men to several of the events. Each host or hostess had been quietly reserved and achingly polite when greeting Lorelai, and while it was apparent that almost everyone knew she was the Champion of Kirkwall, none opined on this fact, leaving Lorelai feeling a sense of dread for their reception in Starkhaven.

Sebastian had chastised her for feeling so, reminding her that the rumors from Kirkwall may not have reached as far as Starkhaven. After all, he had said, these weren't the sort of people to linger in a local pub, feasting on ale and gossip.

She had smiled, as had he, and each had accepted his false reassurance before they'd awkwardly changed the subject.

But in the dead of the night, their room still and quiet, neither found sleep easily, each wondering if the uniform silence of their hosts regarding her status told more than either dared to admit.

Today their journey would draw to a close, and soon, the people of Starkhaven would make plain their feelings on the matter. With a sigh, she felt her heart skip a beat, her emotions wrestling with one another.

Lorelai was now approaching the end of her third month of pregnancy, and her hand traveled down to the small bump that was just beginning to show itself. She had suffered through a brief spell of morning sickness, ironically, usually in the evening. Sebastian had handled her malaise with gentle care. He had held her, laying cool cloths over the back of her neck, and had waited patiently while she had emptied her stomach.

She'd begged him to leave her, embarrassed for him to see her in such a way, but he'd never heeded her. Instead, he'd helped her back to the bed before calling for the steward to remove the basin. She had lain still then, listening as he quietly spoke his evening prayers, while she'd waited for sleep to settle her delicate belly.

She had come to love the sound of his gentle brogue as he repeated the Chant.

He did so every night, without hesitation or embarrassment, and regardless of what had transpired that day. She had come to perceive a great deal from his submissions, realizing that Sebastian was a man of humility and hope. Listening to his lilting words, she had come to know him far more than she would have thought possible, and she found her admiration of him growing daily.

The man she had chosen to trust her life with, with her child's life, was one of commitment. He was a man who saw value and goodness in all; a man who served their Maker first, and who would soon be serving the people of Starkhaven with the same dedication.

_Starkhaven has no idea how good things will be,_ she thought, her eyes still wandering the horizon.

Turning around, she watched the men, until she caught Sebastian's eye, and he offered her a quick smile. Cameron looked up and followed his friend's gaze, and, seeing Lorelai, laughed. A quick exchange between the friends resulted in Cameron waving to her before making his descent into the sloop.

Lorelai paused as Sebastian approached, and she took his outstretched hand, which he tucked against his side.

"Hello darlin', I've been watching you," he said. "You didn't think I had seen you pass by, did you? I knew you couldn't resist the chance to spy the city."

She smiled, glancing toward the distant skyline. "I'm torn between excitement and utter dread," she confessed. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to be rude. I didn't wish to interrupt you and Cameron."

He scoffed. "Lass, if you think I'd ever prefer _his_ company over yours, then I'm doing something very wrong when we're together."

She blushed and felt butterflies stir in her belly.

He ran his hands up her arms. "And there's nothing to dread; we're in this together," he said solemnly.

She blinked rapidly, her mind full of questions. "Is everything ready for our arrival? Are we on time?" she asked quickly. "Has the captain said when we'll arrive?"

He smiled indulgently. "You can ask the man yourself, you know," he reminded her. "You've no need to wait for me."

"I know," she began, then paused, sighing. "It's just that he's all 'Your Highness' this, and 'Your Highness' that; I feel like he thinks I'm questioning him or his performance. He's so stiff and formal when I speak to him." She shrugged.

He ran his thumb over the top of her hand. "That, my wife, is something you will have to grow accustomed to," he said gently. "Do not forget my warnings, Lorelai: trust no one fully, other than myself and the Averys. It is cynical, I know, but most of Starkhaven will see you as a means to an end."

She smirked. "I'm familiar with _that_ aspect of public life," she reminded him with a chuckle. "I went from being trustworthy do-gooder, friend to all, to a stepping stone to the power the nobles craved in the space between the Arishok's last breaths."

He shook his head sadly. "So you did. In time, we will learn who is genuine, and who is not," he explained. "But, as you well know, the first is far fewer than the latter. We must be cautious," he said. "Use the deference those around you show you to your advantage, and watch their interaction with their peers and staff; that will tell you a great deal."

The sound of a throat clearing was heard from behind them, and Sebastian turned to look at the steward, Jack, waiting for their attention.

"My apology for the intrusion, Your Highnesses, but Lord Avery has asked that I inform you we shall be arriving shortly," he explained. "He asks that you both please join him and Lady Avery below deck at your convenience."

Sebastian thanked Jack and excused him before returning his attention to her.

"Lorelai," he began quietly. "I know you have worries about Starkhaven, and I will confess that I do as well." He shifted his weight uneasily. "I would have you know that I am very grateful to have you as my wife, and I swear to you, we will make this life ours. I will not allow the smoke and mirrors of politics to distract me from being your husband and this child's father. I will not falter."

A lump formed in her throat and she reached out for him, her finger tips lightly touching his cheek. "No, you won't, and neither will I," she vowed. "We will make it our own."

His large blue eyes locked with hers, the intensity of his feelings unbridled in their depths. "Come," he finally said, his voice unsteady. "Let's see what Avery wants of us, shall we?" he requested, offering her his arm and leading her down the stairs.

**xXx**

The sloops maneuvered deftly into the small, man-made harbor that was carved out of a rocky hillside. There were several short docks, and as their sloop crept into the larger of the three slips, a small lad raced down the gravel path from the out-buildings above.

Lorelai and Sebastian, along with the elder Avery children, Hannah and Elizabeth, were leaning against the aft side of the watercraft, watching the skilled crew work.

"Ho there, Georgie!" called out a crew member to the small boy as he arrived at the dock. "Run up to the house and let Mrs. Hutchinson know we've arrived; make sure she sends down every free hand she's got!"

"Yes, ser!" the lad replied. "Is it true, then? You've got the _real_ Prince of Starkhaven with y'all?"

"Aye!" answered the man. "And his bonny new bride, too! Scoot now, make our arrival known!"

Sebastian smiled as Lorelai giggled softly, embarrassed by the kind compliment the crewman had paid her. They watched as Georgie saluted and scampered back up the hillside.

"That's Georgie Warwick, he's Da's valet's son," Hannah informed them. "He's terribly silly."

"Most men are, Hannah," Lorelai answered cheekily, to which Sebastian waggled his eyebrows.

"I agree," Hannah said seriously, looking up at Lorelai, before she realized that a man was listening. "My da and you of course being the exception, Your Highness," she qualified with skill, her eyes on Sebastian.

"You are most gracious, Miss Avery," Sebastian said with a flourish. Hannah blushed madly and turned back around, fixing her eyes on the activities of the dock.

Several minutes passed quietly before household staff began to arrive, and, once they did, the work of disembarking the Averys and Vaels began in earnest. A large woman, her hair white and her cheeks bright splotches of red, hustled down the pathway from the house, and Sebastian gestured to her.

"That's Mrs. Hutchinson," he explained. "She's been here as long as I've been alive, and is a wonderful woman. She used to let Cam and I eat all the cracklings when we were wee lads."

Lorelai watched the older woman make her hurried descent and smiled at the idea of the two big men she knew, being little boys together, and sneaking treats from the pantry.

"My mother detested her," he elaborated in a sad voice. "She thought her too lenient with me, and did not like how informally she treated me. My mother did not approve of allowing anyone to forget our status."

The happy imagining of a young, rascally, Sebastian scattered and Lorelai frowned. "But then, how did you ever have any friends? You outrank everyone!"

He shrugged. "Ensuring her rowdy son had friends or fun was not high on my mother's list of priorities. She was not one to allow such concessions against the weight of our duties to ruling Starkhaven."

"Seb, that's…" she considered her words carefully. "That must have been very difficult."

He stilled and blinked, before he forced a smile. "Those who truly cared about me were persistent, despite the potential consequences; Mrs. Hutchinson was one of them, and she made sure I was allowed to have fun and play when she was about," he answered.

"Consequences?"

"It did little for one's career to draw the ire of the Princess of Starkhaven," he said judiciously. "I made a point of not telling my mother."

"Oh," she whispered. "Well, it's little wonder you were so rowdy, then," she observed to herself. Her eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Hutchinson, the elderly housekeeper who now panted heavily, and offered happy greetings to the men on the dock. "I'm glad you had Mrs. Hutchinson."

"As am I," he said quietly. "If I am truthful, I would tell you I spent most of my youngest years wishing I was Cameron, and not a royal son. The Avery family," he paused, "…let's just say, I needed the Averys very much. Cam and his parents, Mrs. Hutchinson; they were my real family."

She felt a surge of protective anger bubble inside her, and found herself wondering just who Sebastian's parents had been. Turning to look up at him, she slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder. "Well, now you're stuck with me," she stated firmly.

He looked down at her and considered her words. "For that I am most happy, darlin'," he said slowly, his gaze holding hers.

"Good."

"No snogging on the deck, you two!" called out Cameron's booming voice. They all turned to see as the Averys arrived on the deck, Cameron pausing briefly to answer a crewman's question.

"There's innocent lasses present, I'll not have such displays going on around my children!" the tall, handsome man teased as he and his wife arrived with the group. Their youngest, Melissande, was in his arms.

"Maker's sake, Cameron!" Marie hissed, smacking her husband's arm playfully.

Melissande turned herself in her father's arms, a gasp escaping her tiny mouth as she pointed. "Look, Mama! It's Mrs. Hutchinson!" she cried, and began to wiggle wildly in her father's grasp, desperate to get down.

Hannah and Elizabeth both began waving frantically at Mrs. Hutchinson, who waved back with equal enthusiasm.

"Harry!" Cameron called to a burly crewman. "You'd best get the gangplank for the family dropped; my loves are eager for Mrs. Hutchinson's hugs."

The man laughed knowingly and moved to secure a second gangplank, this one with rope railings, and Hannah led her sister's flight from the sloop.

The adults followed the children at a more reasonable pace, but none present could resist grinning at the clamoring reunion of the Avery girls with their beloved housekeeper.

Mrs. Hutchinson dropped to her knees, her arms opened wide as the girls threw themselves against the bulk of the elderly woman, each finding somewhere to hug. "Now there's ma precious wee gals!" Mrs. Hutchinson cried as she gathered them against her. "Och, how I have missed ma bairns!"

They arrived at the housekeeper's side and Cameron offered his hand to aid in her standing. She slapped it away.

"I'm nae dainty lass, boy, but I'm not so auld as to need your help to ma feet!" she declared as she hauled herself upright. She did not release any of the girls.

"I got your courier just a week past; we're so chuffed everyone is home!" Mrs. Hutchinson continued, kissing the top of each girls head. "Now," she began, looking down at the children. "Run up to the kitchen; there's a treat waiting for y'all there!"

The girls ran to the end of the dock, before each came to an abrupt halt. One by one, the girls dropped into a quick curtsey, and their father nodded at them, dismissing them. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

"My lady, you look wonderful," the housekeeper announced with a grin to Marie. "Och, now, this lad I have missed sorely," Mrs. Hutchinson said with a smile as she approached the men. Cameron opened his arms, but Mrs. Hutchinson scoffed and moved past him with a wink.

Sebastian bowed low before standing and accepting her hug.

"Oh my, let me look at you!" Mrs. Hutchinson said softly, her hands against his cheeks. "So handsome you've become," she muttered. "The looks o' your grandfather, and thank the Maker for that! So tall, and with some meat on your bones!" she surmised as she released him, and stepped back. "Welcome home."

Sebastian's nostrils flared and his grin wobbled. "I am very happy to be here."

Cameron stepped close and tried to draw Mrs. Hutchinson's attention, but she waved him away with her hand, and Marie laughed in delight at Cameron's frown.

"She always did like him best," Cameron muttered sourly as Marie continued to laugh, while Mrs. Hutchinson rolled her eyes.

"Now, dear ser, would you please introduce me to this lovely creature?" Mrs. Hutchinson asked Sebastian, her twinkling eyes on Lorelai, her plump features pulled into a sincere smile.

"Mrs. Hutchinson, I would like you to meet my wife, Lorelai Vael," Sebastian said.

"Your Highness," Mrs. Hutchinson said formally and dropped into a curtsey with the sprightliness of a young girl.

Lorelai grinned widely. "I'm so happy to meet you, Mrs. Hutchinson!" she replied. "Please, call me Lorelai."

Mrs. Hutchinson chuckled, looking back at Sebastian. "Lorelai?" she repeated, and then studied Lorelai thoughtfully. "Oh, what a very different princess you'll be! I believe things in Starkhaven may just become interesting again! I am honored to know you."

A few minutes later, the group left the dock, Cameron staying to ensure the sloop that would return to Wycome, and the Smythefield estate, was given full provisions. Sebastian escorted Lorelai up the gravel path as Mrs. Hutchinson and Marie walked quietly together, the housekeeper updating the lady of the house on the status of the staff and home.

As the Vaels reached the top of the hill and began the walk through the ornately-landscaped ground to the mansion, Mrs. Hutchinson tugged slightly at Marie's arm, slowing their pace.

"So that's the Champion of Kirkwall, eh?" Mrs. Hutchinson queried. "Plenty of scuttlebutt about her. Hannah must have nearly dropped from the excitement of it."

Marie frowned. "Not the good kind of scuttlebutt, I take it?"

"Didn't know it came in any form other than bad, my dear."

"Damn, that's not good," she whispered. "Hannah is very taken with her. Lorelai is very kind, and Sebastian seems quite happy."

"As he should be; Maker knows he's needed happiness for some time. But how is she with our girls?"

"Wonderful; she's been playful and patient," Marie answered.

Mrs. Hutchinson grunted. "Well, she certainly didn't seem very aware of her position, that's worth something too, isn't it?" she reasoned. "Come, let's check on the girls and get you something to eat, the baby must be hungry, what with all that growing he's done since I last saw you."

"Yes ma'am."

**xXx**

The grass was tall, the curls of the stems tickling his fingertips as he moved through it. The lush, rolling hills of the field stretched out before him, the first real beauty he had seen in weeks. The wind blew fiercely around him, and the yellow-green field grass swirled and rippled like a tumultuous sea, the cool scent of rain blowing in with it.

Anders glanced up at the sky, losing himself for a moment in the colors of the coming storm. A burst of loud cursing interrupted his peace, and he looked behind him, annoyed to see that the gaggle of baboons that Celia employed were not too far behind him, and he increased his pace to avoid them.

He'd been traveling with the group for the last three weeks and with each day he regretted his decision to accompany Celia more. She was vulgar and uncouth. Her voice grated against his ears and her manner was hard; she was an erratic and mean-spirited leader, showing cruelty to those who displeased her.

But they had their uses.

Despite his intense dislike for Celia, despite his absolute certainty that she was more likely to kill him when their job was done than to honor her word and share the loot, he would continue to travel with her – for now.

The company he was keeping was nothing short of a gang of murderous thugs, but they were a powerful distraction, for between the constant travel, the brawls amongst the men, and Anders' skin of wine, he met the end of each day in a state of complete exhaustion.

Celia would surely slit his throat – all of their throats – but until she forced his hand, he would use her and her motley crew to put the time and distance between his need to learn how to live without Lorelai.

He hadn't dreamed of Lorelai in five nights, and the cold stone within his chest seemed to weigh less each time he woke from another night of successfully hiding from his memories; from his guilt. Slowly but surely, he was learning to smother his feelings altogether, to hold down the need to worry for her and their unborn child, to no longer wonder if she would forgive him.

In time, and with focus, they would soon be no more to him than a whisper in his past. In time, he would learn to move on.

"Time is hardly a Warden's friend," he muttered to himself, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Anders shook his head, scattering his thoughts, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Celia; she was watching him. He quickly averted his gaze, and strode forward, hoping to avoid her direct attention.

"You're always off by yourself," said a voice from behind him.

Anders' nostrils flared. "It's because I wish to be _alone_," he answered coldly.

Celia hastened her steps and arrived at his elbow. "Well, now, it seems to me that you'd try to be a little friendlier with us," she observed. "We're your mates now, and we do share a common goal."

"I don't share anything with any of you," he snapped.

She sniggered. "You're still so defensive! Tsk, tsk, Anders; you keep this up, and you'll have us thinking you don't appreciate our company," she said snidely. "And you _do_ share something with us, actually; you're out here hiding from your life, just like the rest of us."

Anders' mind dragged forward the memory of Lorelai's face when the chantry fell. He felt ice run through him and hurried forward, desperate to be away from the horrible woman next to him. "I'm nothing like you! Keep your ignorant observations to yourself!"

Celia snorted in derision, and matched his pace. "Keep telling yourself that! You're out here for a reason, and I think…"

Hot rage melted the cold in his belly. "I'm out here for far nobler reasons than murdering some poor thieving sod who was _pathetic_ enough to fuck you for a map! I'm after better things than money!"

She laughed coldly. "Oh, my! Well, thank the Maker for you gracing us all with your dignified personage!" she said sarcastically, batting her eyelashes in false modesty. Her features darkened.

"Listen, you stuck up, ungrateful prat, I don't care _what_ happens to you after you get me my gold. But don't think I'll put up with you being all high and mighty until then; no way," she sneered. "You're out here because you've got nothing and you're nothing to no one. You're no better than us, Mage, and you'd be smart to remember who's feeding you!"

He did not reply, but instead, turned to move away from her. She stepped forward and grabbed the cuff of his coat, pulling him to a stop. "The world's told you to go to the Void, or some bitch broke your sad little apostate heart. So what? Who cares?" she barked.

She jabbed her finger into his chest. "Get even or get over it! Go cut the cock off the bastard that's fucking your woman, or kill those who did you wrong!" she growled. "But don't you dare go thinking you got anything more about you than we do. You're a stray dog, just like the rest of us."

"Let go," he ordered calmly, his eyes glinting with steel.

Her gaze remained locked with his, and he wrenched his coat free from her grasp. "I was hired to heal and to cast," he said in a deadly tone. "I don't need you trying to understand me, and I don't want to know you or your gang of bandits. I will do my part, but you stay the hell away from me otherwise."

"Fine, but you'll change your tune soon enough." Celia's eyebrow arched. "Whoever the cunt is, she sure did a number on you, didn't she?"

His fists bunched at his sides as he stepped closer, leaning down so close to her that he could smell her rotting teeth. "Do _not_ call her a cunt!" he seethed.

Triumph flashed in her cold eyes. "Thought so," she said with a cruel laugh. "You're not so special, Anders, and if it wasn't for me, by now you'd be starving to death or some templar's boy-toy," she noted with an ugly curl to her lip. "Remember that, and we'll all get along just fine."

The rest of the group began to gather around them, and their chatter ceased as each man observed the tension crackle between their leader and the reclusive apostate.

Anders and Celia's eyes remained locked as the winds began blast them with frigid gusts.

"Storm's almost here! Make camp, fellas!" she ordered, finally looking away. "Let's set up over there, by that hillside!"

The rain began to fall, fat, cold, heavy drops thudding onto them. Celia turned her eyes back to Anders.

"I think I gave you an order," she said in a deceptively calm voice.

A moment later, Anders strode past her, joining the others, and he began to set up the camp.

**xXx**

The next morning began with a horrible thunderstorm, and Lorelai, waking with a yelp, nearly climbed under Sebastian's bulk as the intensity of the storm reached its climax. He had told her stories of Mrs. Hutchinson's pet pig as he had rubbed her back, easing some of the tension there.

The storm persisted, and soon, Sebastian confessed he was out of childhood tales. "I'm afraid I'm running out of distractions, darlin'," he'd whispered against her temple.

She'd pushed up onto her elbow and kissed him.

"Perhaps not," he'd muttered against her lips, and kissed and caressed her until the last of the storm blew up the river.

Two cold baths later, they dressed and left their suite.

Breakfast was still being arranged along the long sideboard, but Cameron and Marie soon joined them, and tea was served as the servants finished preparing for the meal. An hour later, the friends left the table, and Cameron and Sebastian excused themselves, departing for Cameron's office.

Marie and Lorelai were passing through the front hall when a footman hurried through the tall doors, entering from the outside of the home. "My lady!" he called, hastening to Marie's side. "My lady, the front gate sent a runner: the Prince of Starkhaven and a large party have arrived."

Marie's eyes widened in shock. "You mean, Goran Vael?"

"Yes, my lady," the footman nodded. "The runner said it was the Prince, he has nearly twenty with him, riders and carriages."

Lorelai gasped. "Armed? Are they armed?"

The footman shook his head. "Not that was seen, Your Highness. No Royal Guard appears to be with them, either."

Marie looked at Lorelai, worry on her pretty face. "Cameron!" she bellowed. Turning back to the footman, she issued orders. "Go, make ready! Alert the guard barracks, and send someone to Mrs. Hutchinson, quickly! Cameron!" she cried again as the footman sprinted to do her bidding.

Cameron burst through the double doors at the far end of the hall, Sebastian hot on his heels. "Marie!" he cried, running to her.

"Goran is at the gates!" she said frantically.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed as he reached Lorelai's side and Cameron turned to look at him.

"Unexpected move," Cameron stated, marching to throw open the front doors, looking out. "What's Goran playing at?"

"Are they armed? Are there guards?" Sebastian demanded, his grip fierce on Lorelai's hand.

Marie shook her head in the negative. "No, the footman said no guards, either!"

"Not here to kill us then, at least not today," Cameron noted wryly. "A social call, then?"

"Perhaps, though I wouldn't count on it being very 'social'," Sebastian answered, his eyes flashing with determination. He turned to Lorelai. "I want you and Marie to stay in the back of the house. I will have Cameron send someone to you if the time comes. I will not have you here if Goran means any harm."

"I'm perfectly capable of…"

Sebastian shook his head. "No! Do as I say, Lorelai!"

"Sebastian! You may be in danger! I can't just leave…"

Marie grasped Lorelai's hand, stopping Lorelai's words. "Come, Lorelai. Let them see what Goran's about," she said gently. "If there's any trouble, they'll meet it, and the girls will need us," she reminded her.

Lorelai's jaw ground, angry at being so quickly dismissed, but remembering the children and glancing at Marie's swollen belly forced her to reluctantly agree. She, too, was vulnerable, her own child growing within her. "Yes, all right."

"Go," Sebastian said firmly. "Cameron and I will greet my cousin. All will be well."

Lorelai felt fear grip her heart, and she kissed his cheek hard. "Be careful!" she ordered as Marie tugged at her arm, and she finally moved, leaving her husband and Cameron behind as she helplessly followed Marie to the rear of the house.

_**Thank you, as always, to Lisa. I love how you do what you do, and hope that, even after the boot, you'll keep doing it **_

_**I apologize for the major delay in posting; it's not for lack of wishing I could. I will be able to return to regular updates by end of September, until then, I humbly ask for your patience.**_

_**Thank you for every review, alert, and favorite. Your thoughts and notes are invaluable, and I am more appreciative for each one.**_


	16. A Storm, A Fight, and a Spot of Color

_**Normally I save my notes for the end of the chapter, but I'm going to break my own rule this once, and hope you will forgive me. **_

_**I would like to say 'Thank you' to all of you for sticking with this tale, and offer my sincere apology for the near wasteland of space between the last two updates. **_

_**I've had one of the busiest summers of my life, travelled over 10,000 miles, navigated a family relocation, and had an adventure that involved curry and a Day-Saver bus pass. It was a whirlwind, and although it was a great ride, it definitely kept me away from this story for far too long.**_

_**Thank you for not giving up hope, regular updates can now be expected. Now, let's get to it...**_

**A Storm, A Fight, and a Spot of Color**

Rain pelted down on Fenris, the random, fat drops of icy cold water streaking across his flushed face. The wind blasted past him, its gusts strong enough to push back his sturdy frame. He tucked his chin into his chest, keeping the wind out of his eyes, and pressed onward up the steep slope.

The heat of the day had been oppressive, and the storm a welcome reprieve.

Seventeen days had passed since he had discovered the abomination's trail, and he had steadily pursued Anders since. Fenris' sense of determination had grown within him, for the further he followed, the more detectable Anders seemed to become. Whether it was leaving boot prints, or debris around a recent campsite, it was apparent that Anders was growing complacent.

His hunt would be fruitful, and his blade would put an end to the evil the possessed mage had wrought.

The rain became steady, and his hides were slowly becoming plastered against him, the fine, linen shirt he wore beneath bunching to irritate his skin. He realized with a scowl that not only would the mage's trail be made less obvious due to the sheets of rain, but his pursuit would have to wait, the magnitude of the storm forcing him to seek shelter.

As he left the road for the woods that lined it, he gathered the debris the winds had shaken free from the trees. He soon found a small alcove in the wood, a bank of tightly-knitted bramble bushes granting a reprieve from the wind. Carefully, he erected a small but sturdy lean-to and settled in to await the end of the storm.

The hours grew long as the warrior watched the meager flames of his campfire, his mind filled with lonely thoughts. It had caught him unawares, how greatly he missed the others, and his idleness did not help matters.

He felt unsettled and fidgety, and could not be still.

He removed his cleaning rag and oil from his leather pack, and began to buff the breastplate of his hides, keen to let the work distract him. As his hand grew tired from the work, he sighed; he could not dispel his sense of foreboding, and, tossing the rag aside, he stared idly at the small rippling puddles around him. He knew what was eating at him, and tried to push back the potent mixture of fear and anger, resolute not to submit.

In another few days, he would reach the Tevinter border. In another few days he would reach the lands he had once called home.

_Home_, he thought, and then scoffed at the falseness of the word. Tevinter had never been his home. Tevinter had only been a source of hate and terror.

Hawke and the others, the Hanged Man, Kirkwall - _that_ was home.

Evening arrived, and the rain lessened, before a second storm blew in, matching its predecessor's vigor. Fenris' anxiety, seemingly heightened by the storm, drew a growl of self-disgust from deep in his chest. He closed his eyes, his former master's face waiting beneath his lids.

"Begone," he muttered, and shook his head, re-opening his eyes.

For so long he had fought Danarius' overwhelming control over him, and ultimately, he had slain the demented blood mage, putting an end to their years-long struggle. But now, in this desolate wood, he felt things he had thought long ago defeated, and cursed loudly against his own cowardice.

"I am afraid no more! I will not allow such power to be held over me! Not again!" he barked, his forceful tone sounding thunderous against the quiet, sodden wood.

As his voice echoed back to him, he felt a spike of embarrassment in his belly. He was behaving like an undisciplined child, and by voicing such things, he knew he only added to his turmoil's strength. His frown grew more intense, angry at his lack of self-control.

"Clearly, I am overtired," he mumbled in excuse.

He ran his hands through his choppy, damp hair, clearing his mind. With a hard sigh, he gathered up his rag and scrubbed his breast-piece with a focus he did not feel.

_I will rest tonight, and eat a hearty meal come morning,_ he thought. _All will be well._

With clipped motions, he fastidiously prepared his lean-to for the cold night ahead. But as the fullness of dark fully surrounded him, he could not find peace, and sleep evaded him.

Finally, he reached into his pack, removing the carefully-folded parchment and laying it open, the gilt script barely visible in the miniscule light. His eyes ran over the pages, and he settled back against his bedroll, the words playing in his head.

Lying still, he folded the papers shut, and he rested their undeniable truth against his heart, his palm holding them snugly against his chest.

"I am Fenris," he whispered to the darkness. "And I am free."

**xXx**

Lorelai followed Marie down an elaborately decorated hall, the frantic staff making way before hurrying onward to prepare for Prince Goran's arrival. Lorelai went blindly along, her thoughts solely on Sebastian.

"What do you think is happening?" she asked from behind Marie, who was just reaching the double doors which would open to the nursery.

"Nothing, Lorelai, I'm certain," Marie answered, her voice strained. "I'm sure it's fine. Goran is a bit of an odd duck, to say the least. For all we know, he has simply come by for tea."

"Or for Seb's head," Lorelai muttered, her husband's grim features still clear in her mind's eye.

She placed her hand over the miniscule bump at her middle, and drew a steadying breath.

"Tea, you think?" she repeated, her mind made up. She stopped and smiled angelically at Marie. "Brilliant! If that's what Goran's about, then, surely there won't be any harm in my returning to the front hall!" she said as she turned on her heel and started back the way they'd come.

"Lorelai? Wait!" Marie called out frantically. "Sebastian wanted you to stay with me!"

"Yes, well," Lorelai said with a casual shrug. "We can't _all_ have what we want, all the time, now, can we?"

Marie's eyes widened. "Lorelai, at least come in with me, to say hello to the girls? The men will be fine, and I really do think…"

"No, Marie, I'm sorry. I'm not leaving him alone with Goran." Lorelai said apologetically, her face a mask of determination.

"Cam's with him," Marie reminded her, and seeing there was little use in arguing with her friend, finally nodded in defeat.

Lorelai squeezed Marie's hand in farewell, and ran back the way she had come.

She rounded the last turn in the corridor and stopped short of the door, smoothing her skirts and straightening the bodice of the dress.

"I really should find a way to stash a dirk somewhere," she whispered as she finished her adjustments. Looking up again, she grasped the elegant handle of the doors to the front hall.

With a long breath, she pulled the door open, and, with her head held high, she glided across the room, steadily meeting Sebastian's look of shock.

"Lorelai? Why aren't you with Marie?" Sebastian demanded. "I very specifically told you to go!"

She arrived to stand between both men, a slight smile on her face. "I've elected not to listen," she announced, then turned her eyes to Cameron. "Cameron."

Cameron struggled to contain his grin. "Lorelai."

"You…you _elected_ not to listen?" Sebastian stammered, a scowl on his handsome face. "Maker help…now you listen to me, Lorelai! This is not some game; we've no clue why he's arrived here, unannounced and…"

"_And_ that's exactly why I'm here," she interrupted. "So unless you plan on making a scene in front of _him_," she continued, gesturing behind Sebastian and toward the doors of the entry where riders could clearly be seen arriving, "you'll save this lecture for another time. Although, I expect I won't elect to listen then, either." She smiled. "You know how I can be."

"Damn it, woman!" Sebastian snarled, his blue eyes flashing as he turned to face the doors, which were being opened by two stoic footmen. "We will discuss this later!" he hissed under his breath.

Cameron winked at Lorelai.

"Cameron Avery, I swear to the Maker if you say one, bloody word!" the Prince seethed as he strode forward to formally greet his cousin.

Goran Vael, ruling Prince of Starkhaven, arrived on horseback, surrounded by a band of elaborately-dressed guards and what appeared to be a good part of the royal court of Starkhaven. Lorelai, having hurried out to join her husband in his welcome, planted herself at Sebastian's side.

The elder Prince was dressed in a lavish, lace-trimmed outfit, made entirely from the finest Orlesian silk, and nearly every inch of his coat, breeches, and riding boots were the brightest shades of orange she had ever seen.

"Oh my," she breathed, gaping in sheer wonderment at the ostentatious ensemble.

Sebastian stood stiff, his spine mimicking a lance. "Your Highness, Cousin, it is a pleasure to see you! I have been eager for our reunion."

"Ha! Clearly I more than you, lad!" Goran replied with a hearty laugh. "Forgive ma hideous manners, comin' unannounced and all that, but I was too excited tae wait any longer!"

The footmen moved forward at a crisp pace, and a mounting stool was provided for the Prince's use. With a grace that was in direct contradiction to the man's size and choice in apparel, Goran dismounted his steed.

"Ah! Baron Tisdale!" Goran continued, speaking to Cameron. "I hope you will overlook my impromptu arrival! It's no' often that I get to see family, especially as, y'already ken, they are mostly dead."

Cameron bowed low, ignoring the last of the man's words. "There is nothing t'overlook, Your Highness. We are always honored to be in your presence, and happy to open our humble home to you."

"Ha! As if you would know what humble is, boy!" Goran challenged with a loud laugh, slapping Cameron's arm. "Sebastian! Is this yer new wifey? I have heard such things…"

Collectively, the royal party turned to stare at Lorelai, their gazes evaluating and taking apart each aspect of her appearance.

Lorelai raised her chin slightly; her gaze confident before dropping into what was now a very well-practiced curtsey.

"Maker's breath, isn't _that_ a sight to behold!" Goran declared, ogling a stooped Lorelai as he hurried forward, and offered his hand to her.

Lorelai smiled falsely as she rose, hiding her annoyance while taking full advantage of the man's proximity, her eyes quickly absorbing his every feature – and potential weaknesses.

He was portly, his hosed legs looking more rounded than shapely. His purple face hinted at a ghost of what had once been a handsome man, but his mottled coloring and wiry eyebrows effectively robbed his more eye-catching features of any chance of discovery.

His hair had clearly once been the same, sable brown that Sebastian's still was, but it had long ago surrendered to a lifeless grey, making his unhealthy skin tone even more unnatural.

In all, he appeared a swollen, garish man, who was spending entirely too much time looking down at her cleavage. It was his eyes though, that gave her pause.

There was no mistaking the Vael blue beneath the puffy lids.

"Ser, allow me to introduce my wife, Lorelai Amell Vael, of the Hawke family of Kirkwall," Sebastian said in a strong voice, taking her hand from the grasp of Goran's clammy one.

"Amell, ye say? That's a fine family," replied the older man, his eyes roaming Lorelai once more. "Was that yer surname, then? Bah, no matter," he said, cutting Lorelai's answer off completely as he plodded on. "Good breedin' stock to go wi' her beauty. I suppose you have quite enjoyed that, cousin? I envy you in yer, uh, shall I say, _position!_"

Lorelai glared at the horrid man, but held her tongue, knowing full well that Sebastian's challenges would only be made heavier if she advised Goran Vael what a bloated arse he was. Sebastian very casually pulled her to his side, his hand squeezing hers.

An as-yet un-introduced advisor hurried forward, whispering something in Goran's ear, distracting the Prince from his next lurid comment.

Goran cleared his throat. "Oh, I wasnae supposed to have said that," he said, his hairy eyebrows forming a 'V' over his blue eyes. "Lassies these days! Apparently, I'm no' supposed nae comment on such things any longer. Pity, that!" he finished, laughing loudly, despite the awkward silence around them. "Now, Tisdale, show us into this pile o' yours! I wish to visit with ma kin!"

Cameron nodded graciously, and his staff hastened to make way. Cameron yielded to Sebastian, who led the royal party inside. Sebastian placed Lorelai's hand on his forearm, gently guiding her into the home.

The large group chatted amongst themselves, Sebastian fielding each of Goran's questions and comments with ease. The younger Prince of Starkhaven was very much in control of the situation, revealing little to Goran as the older man prattled on.

Sebastian was the picture of ease, betraying none of the tension Lorelai knew he was truly feeling, and she felt her nerves beginning to settle.

It didn't seem that Goran was here for Sebastian's head after all.

Those in the party were shown to a large reception room, its walls lined with intricate woodwork, the gilt trim a testament to the baron's wealth. Large double doors lining the exterior wall allowed the mid-morning's sunlight to shine in abundance, the gloss and pattern of the inlaid wooden floor gleaming in result.

The room was a not-so-subtle display of Cameron's influence and power, as it was meant to be, and yet, it managed to be an inviting space as well.

A short time later, the members of the party mingled amongst themselves, and Lorelai was left standing quietly amongst the strangers around her, introductions complete, and her share of small-talk over. Goran had pulled Sebastian off the stand into an alcove, their heads bent together, the elder Vael's tone loud and jovial.

Lorelai closed her eyes briefly, grateful she had successfully resisted her previous urge to punch Goran Vael on his bulbous nose, although the image still brought a sense of satisfaction.

"Thinkin' o' popping the blighter, eh?" Cameron whispered closely, his sudden appearance behind her catching her off guard.

"As a matter of fact," she began, a wry grin on her lips.

Cameron laid Lorelai's hand on his arm, and, begging their excuses, led her in a slow stroll of the room.

"I expect you may now understand why those we met en route to Starkhaven were no' distressed at the idea of losing Goran as their ruler?" Cameron queried in a low voice.

Lorelai glanced at Goran as he took an overly-large bite from a piece of shortbread, the crumbs tumbling down his lacy orange vest. "Yes, I can see there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth," she replied in a flat tone.

Cameron snorted softly. "He's loud, crass, and what he knows o' politics would fit into a thimble, but he's a Vael, so nearly everythin' is excused," he explained. "However, the people grow tired o' his uncouthness, and when he acts as he does, it impacts the relationships both the merchants and nobility have wi' those beyond Starkhaven. Trade has been hurt, and so have many pocketbooks."

"But now, Starkhaven has a young, handsome Vael who acts the part of prince properly," she added.

"That it does," Cameron agreed. "Any man wi' business beyond our borders will be thrilled at the idea o' having a ruler who does not force their negotiations to begin with an apology. All Seb has to do is no' pass wind at the table, and he's well ahead o' Goran."

Lorelai repressed a smile at that mental picture.

"I've kept you long enough. You'd best join Sebastian, but fear not, I will send for Marie. It's no' fair, you being the only lass ogled by our Prince," he stated, gesturing to a footman.

"No, Cam, it's fine, I can handle him, and she's with the girls," Lorelai argued quietly.

"No, it's best she's here if you are," he countered. "It makes the tone much less formal wi' ladies present. Besides, it's wonderfully fun watchin' Marie no' react to Goran's inappropriate comments; adds a wee bit o' entertainment to an otherwise birthin' day."

Lorelai bit her cheek as the footman arrived. Cameron whispered his directions into the man's ear and the servant quickly departed, as Cameron offered his arm to Lorelai.

"Come, we can place bets on whether Goran tells Marie she's got good birthin' hips."

With a stifled laugh, Lorelai returned to the gathering, her sense of foreboding dispelled.

**xXx**

The afternoon arrived, and with it, the departure of the royal court and Prince Goran. Marie had joined them prior to luncheon, and she, too, had smiled quietly while the Prince enjoyed rudely congratulating Baron Tisdale on his good fortune.

"Nothin' better for a healthy man than a good wife who knows what tae do wi' her husband's energies," he had announced loudly. "And there's nay doubtin' you clearly have a good wife!" he had finished, guffawing at his own wit.

Much to Cameron's disappointment, though, Goran failed to mention Marie's hips.

The foursome had escorted the courtiers and the Prince to the front hall, where, once their good-byes had been exchanged, the party had quickly gone on their way, and the hall became empty.

Lorelai hesitated to leave, knowing from Sebastian's glancing looks in her direction during their meal that he was still very angry with her. She had initially reacted with a strong and justifiable anger of her own, but now, as they stood side-by-side and alone in the grand hall, she felt a flash of nerves creeping up her spine.

"Um, look, Seb, I…"she began, but he turned to face her, his eyes narrowed and hard as he looked at her, and her words faltered.

"May I see you in our chambers?" he asked in a clipped tone that left her certain that she should not answer with a 'no'.

He marched ahead of her, alighting the massive staircase, and leaving her to trail behind him.

Several tension-filled minutes later, she turned into the final hall, saw the door to their suite standing open, and Sebastian waiting within, his back to her. She arrived inside, and waited quietly for Sebastian to speak.

"Would you please shut the door?" he requested, his tone still cold.

She felt completely uncertain of how to respond, and so, turned and closed the door behind her, resisting the urge to do so while remaining on its other side.

"Sebastian," she started again.

"No. You will let me speak."

She felt a spike of anger at his tone. "Then get on with it."

His eyes widened, and the fury she had seen when she had first arrived in the hall, returned to his blue orbs.

"How dare you ignore my wishes so wholly! You were no' asked tae do anything unreasonable! Is it that you think I'm careless? Stupid?" he demanded.

She shook her head incredulously. "What? No, I don't and," she replied quickly before he continued.

"Have I ever, in all the years we've known each other, in all the times we have fought together, done _anythin'_ to make you think I am incapable of lookin' after myself?"

She looked away, her fists in tight balls. "No," she answered, before looking back at him.

"Then why, in the Maker's name, did ye come back in tae that bloody hall? Why would ye…"

"Because you didn't know what was happening!" she snapped, interrupting him. "You talk of all those years? Well in all those years we were fighting together, we knew mostly what we were getting into – and then, I will remind you, we were _armed_!"

"Ah had Cameron wi' me!"

She felt her blood beginning to boil.

"'Ah had Cameron wi' me!" she repeated, pulling a face as she mimicked his ever increasing brogue. "So what?" she yelled. "What would he have done to aid you in a real fight? Charm them? Is the first basic step of defense flirting? I must have missed _that_ during my training!"

"And so you felt it better to risk both 'or lives? Nay, all _four_ 'or lives?" he bellowed. "You've nae right, Lorelai! None! You're no' fightin' thugs in Kirkwall any longer! Ye're a wife and a mother-to-be!"

"I was not going to let you meet Goran alone! I owe you more than that!"

"Wrong! You owe this bairn more than that! You dinnae owe me a _damned_ thing!" he snarled. "When will you realize that it's your blood, your beatin' heart that matters the most! I canna protect the baby if you won't let me!"

She stared at him, her mind spinning with his words.

"Is it that ye still wish it gone?" he continued. "Are ye so desperate to be rid o' it that y'ignore ma requests that you be cautious? Is that why ye're willin' tae put yerself in harm's way?"

"No," she whispered, horrified at what he was saying.

"No?" he countered, his voice still harsh. "Then answer the question, Lorelai! What were you thinking?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

She turned away, her eyes locked on the tree branch outside the nearest window. "I," she said slowly, "I was afraid for you, afraid to lose you," she confessed. "I didn't think about the baby, I just…"

"That's ma point!" he interrupted, running his hand through his hair, and drawing a long breath. He paused, before coming to stand close, his hand reaching for hers. "Darlin', you don't get to _not_ think about the baby, not now, and not ever. You have to learn to trust me, and you have to think of this child first, even if it goes against the grain," he finished, pulling her stiff form into his arms. "I have promised to keep you safe, sworn it the Maker himself, to protect you two. I've no wish to fight you every step of the way, please don't make me."

She sighed, her anger dissipating with the expelled breath. "Why didn't you say any of this before? You just ordered me to go. I thought you were just sending me away, like some simpering, helpless, piece of fluff."

He kissed her brow. "You're the last woman I would ever call simpering, nor are you very fluffy," he answered with a strained laugh. "Why didn't you simply trust me?" he asked, but his tone was no longer combative.

"Because, well, okay, to be honest," she began, "I'm usually telling you what to do, at least, when there's a fight to be had."

"Ah," he replied. "But we're not in Kirkwall any longer, and you're no longer _just_ the Champion."

She rested her head on his shoulder, each allowing the other a few quiet moments to settle their thoughts.

"Seb, I'm not a mind reader, you know. You need to tell me what you want from me," she began. "I am sorry for charging into the hall, but had I known what you were really after, in sending me away, I may have done a better job in staying put."

"May have?" he repeated, a smile in his tone.

"I'm not someone who sits by the side lines, watching others take on troubles alone."

"I know that, darlin', and I'm not asking you to change, to become a potted plant, sitting in the sun," he explained. "But I am asking you to remember that what you do, what you choose to do, affects me and the baby. Regardless of the outcome today, coming back to the hall was dangerous."

She nodded, and hugged him close. "All right," she finally agreed. "But please don't order me to do anything, I mean, even if we both know you're telling me to do something, we could at least, you know, pretend you're asking, and that gives me the chance to say yes."

"Fair enough."

"And this is temporary. The second I'm not pregnant, I'm going to be right back next to you, no matter the risks," she said in a hurry.

Sebastian touched his finger to her chin, tipping her face up to his. "We'll see."

She smiled softly. "Your accent got rather rather heavy when you were yelling at me. I thought I was going to need a dictionary."

He chuckled. "Forgive me, darlin'. Next time I feel the need to have a go at you, I'll try to use the common tongue."

"Thank you."

Looking into his blue eyes, she felt all of her anger slip away, and yielded happily to his kiss. But as the taste of him slowly dragged her senses under, her mind stumbled upon an observation she had made earlier.

She broke their kiss.

"Seb," she whispered. "Goran's eyes are the same blue as yours."

He looked confused, but nodded his agreement. "Yes, nearly every Vael has had the same blue eyes."

She felt a horrible pit form in her stomach. "What if the mother's eyes aren't blue? Or the father's, if the wife was a Vael?"

"Most of us have, or had, blue eyes, darlin'."

"Oh."

She forced a small smile to her lips, and, her heart thudding with dread, she sought to distract herself with his kisses. Her body melded into his, and she reveled in the feel of his strong arms around her.

But as her green eyes drifted shut, it was not Sebastian's vivid blue orbs that she thought of, but rather those of the man she longed to forget, the man who had fathered the child Sebastian was so eager to safeguard.

And his eyes were brown.

**xXx**

"Today went predictably well," the slender man stated, his bony finger running along the rim of his brandy glass.

"Aye, it did," agreed his companion.

"It seems that the playboy prince has come o' age," the slender man continued. "He was every inch a Vael."

"He was," agreed his companion once more.

Silence settled between them, the companion reaching for the decanter, refilling his snifter.

"It seems to me," the other man began, "therein lay our trouble. For if he proves tae be as similar to his grandfatha in character, as he has in looks, I feel we will find our schemes maligned."

The slender man drew his brows together in thought, slowly spinning the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass. "I have heard a few things, things that may give us somethin' of an advantage."

"Such as?"

"She's the Champion of Kirkwall, were y'aware? There are a good many who will no' be best pleased that she will be the next Princess o' Starkhaven," he explained, before sipping slowly from his glass.

"I had heard the rumor, but found it rather difficult tae believe; Vaels are normally so _pious_," the companion answered.

"I wonder if she really did have a hand in the murder of the Grand Cleric."

"Whether she did or not, I have heard a few things about the Champion, one particular item more noteworthy than the rest. Apparently, there is a rather large contract on her head; the Coterie in Kirkwall accepted it."

The slender man's eyes grew bright with excitement. "That is noteworthy! Perhaps we will be able tae persuade the younger Vael that no' meddlin' in our affairs benefits us all?"

"Perhaps."

"Well now, this merits more thought," the slender man grinned slowly. "I believe I shall send a man to Kirkwall."

**_Thank you, Lisa, for your beta, your input, your brilliant Scottishmificationisms, and for letting me steal all your smokes. I'm honoured. (Team U!)_**

**_Thank you all for reading!_**


	17. Second Guesses

**Second Guesses**

Sebastian crossed the gallery, arriving outside of Cameron's private office. Evening was falling, and the friends had taken an early supper. The women had offered to take the children for a quick walk of the gardens, and their husbands intended to use the uninterrupted time to discuss the day's events.

Sebastian entered the room, and immediately spotted Cameron, who was just replacing the lid of the decanter filled with a fine Antivan brandy.

"I see your timing remains excellent, pal," Cameron observed, a small grin on his handsome face.

Sebastian reached the sideboard, accepting the offered snifter. "When it matters," he quipped in return. He took a modest sip of the brandy. "An interesting day, wasn't it?"

Cameron smirked and gave a crisp nod. "I was a wee bit worried this mornin', when Goran blew in as he did."

Both men considered this quietly, neither speaking for a moment.

"That wifey of yours, she's a spirited lass, isn't she?" Cameron ventured, his tone tentative.

"_Some_ may choose to call it that; _I_, however, choose to call it a complete and utter lack of regard for her own well-being," Sebastian answered tightly.

"Ah, well, that's what I'll be callin' it then," Cameron replied, unsuccessfully hiding his smile.

The Prince glowered. "Havin' fun with this, are you, Cam?"

Cameron chuckled. "As a matter of fact, I am."

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow. "I'm pleased my pain is bringing you pleasure."

Cameron laughed in his face. "Och, now, aren't you playin' things up a bit?" he questioned between guffaws. "And you'll ne'er convince me that yer in any _real_ pain; Lorelai's far too lovely to convince me o' that. Any 'pain' yer experiencin' is entirely consensual," he finished, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh! Lorelai," he said in a falsetto voice. "I've been such a bad man," he teased, and then swatted his hand, mimicking slapping someone, finishing his demonstration with an effeminate squeal.

Sebastian watched Cameron, a look of utter boredom on his face. He couldn't keep this up, though, and finally laughed out loud. "Are you done, now?" he asked with a shake of his head. Cameron sniggered, but nodded. "Good. Now, let's to the business at hand, shall we? Goran is very eager to relinquish his throne."

Cameron's eyebrows shot up. "You're jokin'! What did he say? 'Here's ma seat. Sorry 'bout the stains?'"

Sebastian chuckled and then shrugged. "That was about the gist of what he had to say. Goran is sick of being 'in charge' as he put it," he explained. "Honestly, the man has no sense of duty whatsoever; it's embarrassing to call him a Vael. He would have handed the government over during luncheon today, if I'd have let him."

"So why didn't you?" Cameron queried, and then waved his hand, dismissing Sebastian's appalled stare. "I'm only foolin', and you know it. But what _did_ you tell Goran? When will the transition begin?"

"I told him that I wanted to meet with his council, tomorrow, so that I could be fully appraised of the state of affairs."

"Good, no use giving any scoundrels a chance to cover their tracks. Callin' on them witho' much warning should help to prevent that."

The Prince agreed. "You read my mind. I also wish to visit with the Officer of the Treasury; I'll not be having someone else looking at the government ledgers for me," Sebastian explained. "I cannot be making decisions without a solid understanding of where it is that Goran has led Starkhaven to."

"Yes, and the sooner you do, the sooner you can lead us all back," Cameron noted wryly. "Maker, if nothin' else, you can help make amends with the Antivan ambassador. So, when do you get started?"

"We, pal, we," Sebastian corrected. "I still need you, Cam, and I hope that you will continue on as my advisor. We can create a fancy title, if you like."

"How fancy? Like I'll need lacy smallclothes fancy?"

Sebastian grinned. "That wasn't a picture my mind needed, but sure, pal, if you're interested."

Cameron looked thoughtful. "I must admit, the idea o' certain _individuals_ having to grovel does entertain me," he considered with a shrug. "But, nay, I expect it's more fun havin' a low title with the wallet of a duke; gives me all sorts of social freedoms, ye ken? If ah had a fancy title, people may actually pay attention to me, and then imagine the trouble I'd be in," he reasoned. "It's best to let them continue thinkin' I'm just your ol' sidekick, mooching from his betters."

"Aren't you?" Sebastian teased.

"Of course!"

Both men laughed, and Sebastian tipped back his snifter, finishing its contents.

"If you must know," Sebastian began, changing the subject. "Lorelai will not be showing as much 'spirit' for the rest of her pregnancy."

"She told you that, now, did she?"

Sebastian shot Cameron a hard look. "She did. It's hard for her, to not be in the middle of things. She played a large part in Kirkwall," he explained. "But she realizes that she needs to look after the bairn, and that she needs to step back."

Cameron shrugged. "Well, all's well that ends well, they say. And your face was bloody priceless when she returned," he offered, but fell serious again with Sebastian's look of reproach. "Aye, right, it wasnae well played o' her, but no harm done."

"She did not consider all angles today," Sebastian continued, his tone defensive. "She isn't a careless woman, and she will be an excellent mother. It's just an adjustment, that's all."

Cameron eyed him. "You know, Marie has more brothers than I care to think on," he said slowly. "She's quite used to handlin' things of all natures, on her own, not asking for help from others, nor expectin' it. I recall having a few 'discussions' with her, when she first learned she was carryin' Hannah."

"So, there, you see? Even Marie needed to be reminded of her condition," the Prince said readily.

Cameron shook his head. "No, I don't believe Marie ever needed to be 'reminded' of her condition, Seb, no. What I meant were things like lifting her saddle onto her mare, instead of waitin' for help, that sort o' thing," he explained.

Sebastian's features darkened, and Cameron sat forward, concern for his friend pushing him to ask his next question. "Seb, is everything all right with Lorelai?"

Blue eyes snapped to his, and Cameron glimpsed in them a mixture of worry and hurt, but it was quickly hidden; had he not known Sebastian for most of their lives, he would have missed it.

The Prince cleared his throat. "A lot of things happened in Kirkwall, Cam, but she's better now. I won't explain, but, I assure you, things _will_ be fine. Our marriage is a good one."

"I didn't ask you about your marriage, pal," Cameron pointed out gently.

Sebastian shot to his feet and crossed to the sideboard, silently refilling his snifter, his back to his friend. With very deliberate motions, Sebastian placed the snifter back on the glossy wood, and stared down into the contents of his glass.

"Cam, some things are best left between a man and his wife."

Cameron watched the tension in his best friend's shoulders, and, remembering Marie's advice to him after Cameron had insulted Lorelai so thoroughly in Wycome, chose to hold his tongue.

"Aye, that's so," Cameron finally answered. Sebastian slowly turned to face him once more. "Shall we discuss the advisors who travelled with Goran today?" he queried.

Sebastian forced a stiff smile. "Make sure you explain which man oversees the Royal Wardrobe: I want him replaced immediately."

Cameron matched his friend's grin with a weak one of his own. "Done, pal, consider it done."

**xXx**

It had taken nearly three weeks, but the motley crew of thugs and fighters following Celia through the plains finally arrived at the wood that hid the ruins, and, as evening fell, they began to make camp.

They had traveled far, Celia driving them on relentlessly, and it had become obvious to all that she fostered a particular dislike for the mage she had hired. She seemed to savor every opportunity she found to humiliate or abuse him, and Anders was, in turn, equally unfriendly, and genuinely eager to end his time with her.

With the exception of stopping in one small town a week ago, they had avoided contact with other travelers. Once they had arrived at the outskirts of the town, Celia had ordered Anders, and most of the others in the party, to stay away, thereby keeping their overall presence unknown.

Doing so had suited Anders' needs just fine; he had no desire to potentially meet up with a platoon of Templars.

Anders worked at setting up his bedroll away from the majority of the camp, checking his sleeping area and the weight of his flagon of wine. It had become his constant companion, its contents the only solace from the dark recesses of his mind.

He knew, now, that he had somehow surrendered nearly all control to Justice. Certainly, his decision to join with the spirit had been reckless and dangerous, and for that, he accepted full accountability, but until he had become one with the unforgiving being, he had never been the cause of any harm done to others.

His mind had been fuzzy during the first few weeks after Justice had left him. However, from the moment he had awakened in Darktown after the chantry had fallen, alone inside himself again, he had understood that his time with Lorelai had been the only time in the last seven years when he could recall nearly every moment.

Desperately, he clung to those happier memories, his heartbeat frantic as he pushed away the almost equally clear recollection of placing the explosives within the chantry.

No, _he_ was not to blame for what had happened in Kirkwall.

"It wasn't me," he muttered in a strangled tone.

His mind threw forward the memory of the underbelly of the chantry, the smell of the musty catacombs beneath.

"It wasn't me," he repeated with faltering conviction, and bile rising in his throat. His panic consuming him, he reached down to hurriedly grasp the cork of his flagon. Freeing it, he drank desperately at the near-sour wine it contained.

He focused on clearing his mind, forcing his breathing to slow. His nerves settling, he took another long draw from the skin, and replaced the cork.

He was a fool to not have awakened Lorelai, their last morning together, and he felt his usual sense of loss and guilt as he remembered how beautifully she had slept, her lips parted, and her breathing steady.

He hadn't given her enough credit, had not considered the forgiving and loving woman she was. He'd seen her offer mercy to many, worthy or not, and yet he had not considered that she may have offered the same to him.

When they'd met, he had not concealed from her that Justice lived within him, and she had accepted him then, without any fear or reservation. She had eventually come to love him with the same openness and acceptance, and he knew that once she was made to understand, she could do so again.

In the last few months, he'd done everything he could to forget her. But the harder he'd fought to push her from his memory, the more he came to understand one simple truth.

He loved her still.

He'd been a fool to leave her. He needed to go home, and he suddenly realized that waiting to do so was not an option. He needed to set things right, and he needed to do so as soon as possible.

With a shaky breath, he accepted the only way to do so was to confess everything to Lorelai. She needed to know the full extent of the actions Justice had persuaded him into taking; she had to understand that he had been a virtual prisoner within his own body.

_He_ wasn't responsible. It wasn't his fault; he had been maligned by a spirit with a will and ability far greater than his own. He was a healer, a man who helped people. She would see that, she must understand, and then, then, they could be a family.

He looked down at his bedroll and gathered his belongings once more. His pack reassembled, he turned toward Celia, who, not to his surprise, had been watching him the entire time.

"I'm sorry, Celia, but I cannot stay any longer. I've made an error in coming this far, and I need to correct it."

A twisted smile crawled across her features. "An error in coming?" she repeated. "Ah. Yes, you've made an error all right, if you think you're just up and leaving me now. You've struck a bargain with me, Mage, and you won't be going anywhere until you've held up your end."

He squared his shoulders, his eyes narrowing. "I've _kept_ up my end! I've healed three of your men in the last few weeks, men who wouldn't be able to help you now if I hadn't given aid."

"You're still needed here. I've fed you, sheltered you. You're mine, Anders, until _I_ say we're through with this job," she snarled, closing the gap. "And don't you go thinking otherwise," she threatened in a venomous tone.

"I don't owe you anything," he answered with equal venom. "I'm going, now, tonight!" He turned and began to stalk out of the camp.

Anders kept his pace steady and walked past the group of burly men that he had traveled with for some time, all eyes watching to see what would happen between the apostate and their leader.

"Mage!" he heard her yell after him. "Henry!" Celia barked. "Stop him!"

Anders was near the edge of the light the campfire cast into the wood, when a small but wiry man approached from his left. Anders pulled the Fade open and prepared to defend himself, but he instantly felt the air ripped from his lungs, and was tossed like a ragdoll to the ground.

_Templar_, Anders thought as he stared at the stars above.

The face that bent over him then was Celia's, and she smiled in wicked glee as she came to kneel down next to him, her dirty fingers running through his hair.

"Thank you, Henry," he heard her say, before her eyes returned to his.

He felt her hot, rancid breath against his ear. "Did you honestly believe I would be anything less than prepared?" she asked, referring to keeping a former Templar in their midst.

She watched him carefully for a moment, a thoughtful look to her ugly features. "It's wonderful, if you think about it, really. So _much_ important information can be learned from a well-tipped barman, not to mention a mage who talks in his drunken sleep," she said with false warmth to her voice.

He came to his elbows, hoping to put distance between them, but she stayed close.

"I know who you _really_ are, Anders," she hissed. "And if it's the Champion of Kirkwall you're hoping to return to, don't bother; I heard she's long gone."

"Lorelai," he muttered, beginning to push himself up.

"Yes, _that's_ the name I heard so often at the ale house," she answered, tapping her forefinger to her chin, before striking a remorseful look. "Poor thing, such troubles she's had."

He felt panic run through him, and tried again to get up, but she shoved him back down. "What? Tell me!" he rasped but she ignored his plea.

"Tomorrow's a big day, Anders! We're getting my gold, and I don't have time for this pathetic shite."

Standing up from the grass, she bent low, malice in her eyes. "Now, be a good boy; put your bedroll back out, drink your wine, and _go to fucking sleep_."

She slapped his cheek in one swift motion, and rose, turning back to Henry.

Again, he struggled to get up, and had success in turning over, pushing himself up to his knees. She kicked him on his back and he felt her step over him.

"Do help our friend to his bed, Henry, he's worn out." she ordered.

He watched as a man's boot pulled back, and, in an instant, Anders' world went black.

**xXx**

Sebastian sat quietly on a lone bench, one chosen because of its distance from the main path. The garden was lush, the last of the humid summer nights soliciting the headiest of scents from the blooms surrounding him.

He had intended to have a brief discussion with Cameron, and then, return to his rooms, eager to spend a quiet evening talking with Lorelai. He had hoped to share with her his thoughts on Goran, and ask for her opinion on how he intended to proceed, but he had found himself, instead, seeking out the familiar old bench, his heart feeling heavy in his chest.

He'd been married three months now, and, until today, he'd felt Lorelai was on the mend. She had begun to laugh and tease with sincerity, and had stopped having nightmares. They had spoken openly of Anders, and she had even admitted to her growing feelings for her new husband. He had held her, consoled her, had allowed her to make him ache in unspent desire, and he had thought it was what she needed.

He'd been an utter fool.

When he had decided his course, when he had chosen to return to Starkhaven with her by his side, he'd believed in earnest that they would come to form a family. He'd convinced himself that with time and love, Lorelai would be able to open her heart to both him and the babe.

He realized, with a sickening feeling, that perhaps he had been wrong.

"What's ma boy doin' out here in the dark?" asked a soft voice.

Sebastian turned, and saw Mrs. Hutchinson standing at the head of the path.

"Good evening," he said politely.

She arched an eyebrow. "Is it?" she queried, and began to approach. "Well, did you hear ma question?"

He nodded. "I'm just thinking, Mrs. Hutchinson, that's all. It was a busy day," he said smoothly.

She smiled gently. "It was," she agreed. She came to stand directly in front of him, and he began to come to his feet. "Och, such a gentleman, but, nay, keep yer seat, ma boy."

He looked up at her, and she reached out, touching her fingertips to his chin. "Do you know, you've been comin' to this particular bench since you were seven years old?"

He sighed. "Yes ma'am, it's a good spot for thinking."

She inclined her head. "I agree, but seein' as how I've known you since you were a wee nipper, I know you're only to be found here when there's trouble in your heart."

He didn't reply.

"I understand that my boy sent Marie to stay with the lasses this mornin', when the Prince was visitin' our humble home," Mrs. Hutchinson said casually. "I gather that yer wifey stayed with you, then, when His Royal Fancy Pants surprised us?"

Again, Sebastian made no reply, but Mrs. Hutchinson could not help but notice that the man who she loved as a son had visibly tensed at her question.

A quiet moment passed, and the elderly lady turned, settling her bulk next to his trim form. "Do you recall Mr. Hutchinson, love?" She didn't wait for his answer, and continued on. "You weren't much older than, oh, about nine when I lost him."

Sebastian turned, listening carefully.

"He loved this spot, spent years trainin' up those rosebushes," she explained, pointing to the lofty bush to their left.

She turned back to him. "He was a bit of a mess when I married him, my John. His da' had thrown him out o' his home, and he'd spent the whole of his life fightin' his da' before he was finally tossed out," she explained. "I'd just been brought on here, by Cam's mother. And everyone thought I was mad for marryin' him, but Maker, I loved tha' man."

Sebastian's blue eyes showed his confusion. "Then why did anyone counsel you against marrying him?"

She shrugged. "Well, as I said, my John was a mess when we married," she explained. "But I'd known him for so long, and I knew he only needed some time. That, and he needed someone to have faith in him."

She patted his knee. "I canna imagine what would have happened to him, if I'd given up on him," she said with a shake of her head. "I knew who he was, deep down inside underneath all his hurtin', and I knew lovin' him was right; he only needed time to sort himself. As it turned out, I was a smart lass, and to this vary day, I'm so grateful I trusted ma heart. I had _faith_."

Her words struck him like a thunderbolt, and he exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry you lost him so early," he whispered.

She smiled. "Me too. I miss him every day," she admitted.

They sat together, the rustling breeze the only sound in their ears.

"Thank you," Sebastian eventually said.

"For what?" she asked with feigned confusion. "I should be thankin' you, for letting an ol' gal ramble on."

She stood slowly, her knee popping as she did. "Och, see? Ol' as the hills!" she joked and then walked to the head of the departing path before turning back to look at him.

"I love ye, lad," she said, warmth brimming in each word. "Now, off with you, I'm sure yer wifey is wonderin' where you've gone off to."

Sebastian looked up and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

The crunch of Mrs. Hutchinson's footsteps could be heard on the pea gravel, carrying the kind woman away from his place of seclusion.

Sebastian looked up at the clear night sky, each star seemingly more radiant than earlier, and he considered the elderly woman's words, feeling his spirits rise once more.

"Faith," he muttered, and then smiled. "Faith I can do," he stated, and stood, leaving the quiet of the gardens for his rooms and his wife.

**xXx**

"Maker's balls, this is boring," Varric moaned, tossing down his cards.

Aveline looked up from her cards. "Oy! I realize I'm not Donnic, but I can play this game reasonably well!" she defended.

Varric shook his head. "Not this, Aveline," he explained with a quick sigh. "This town! Hawke's gone; the elf too, not to mention the other things that would normally keep me busy, aren't so busy."

"You mean your smuggling?" Merrill asked sweetly, laying her cards face up on the table top.

Varric rolled his eyes and sighed again. "No, Daisy, that wasn't what I meant," he said in annoyance, gesturing behind his own cards at Aveline.

Merrill just shrugged. "What? It's only Aveline."

Aveline smiled smugly, her eyes on Varric. "Yes, Varric, it's only little old me," she teased. She turned her gaze to Merrill. "The Captain of the Guard, you know, the woman charged with _upholding_ the laws here?"

Merrill had the decency to blanch. "Right. Varric doesn't smuggle…things."

Varric slapped his cards down. "Daisy, let me quote our favorite elf by saying, 'Be quiet!'"

Merrill looked irritated, but nodded. "Fine, I will. But I would first like to point out that I'm an elf too, you know, so you saying he's the favorite one is hurtful."

"Noted, Daisy."

Aveline laughed with genuine mirth. "Speaking of Fenris," she began, wiping the tears from her eyes, "have you heard anything of him? My sources say he's nearing Tevinter, or at least should be in the next week or so."

Varric grunted. "That's what I've heard too, but I still haven't heard anything new about Blondie," he admitted sourly. "I sure hope Fenris isn't wasting his time."

"Actually, Varric, I heard something today, in the market in Lowtown," Merrill chirped.

"Which was?"

"Well, there was someone asking around about Sebastian," she explained. "But they were speaking with such a strange accent, no one could understand him."

Aveline sat forward in her seat, and Varric stood up, walking around to stand next to Merrill.

"Wait a minute, are you saying you overheard someone asking about Sebastian, and you didn't come to me right away?" Varric asked in shock. "Daisy!" he chastised.

Merrill shrugged innocently. "Well, he didn't seem all that threatening; he didn't even have a weapon, and he was dressed so prettily! Lots of people are still talking about Lorelai, and the fact that she married Sebastian is still gossiped about!"

Aveline shook her head in annoyance. "Yes, but those people are from _here_, Merrill; you're saying this man had an unrecognizable accent! Had you never seen him before?"

Merrill looked thoughtful. "No. No, I haven't."

Varric's shoulders drooped. "Daisy," he groaned.

Merrill blushed. "My mistake, I will remember to rush to one of you from now on, whenever anyone mentions Lorelai or anyone else. Aveline, kindly give me a key to your house," she said, turning to hold out an empty hand to the other woman.

"A key?" Aveline asked incredulously.

"Yes, because I will need to be able to report everything at once, even when you're sleeping off a night watch."

"Varric," Aveline growled.

"Daisy, just come see me if someone is asking specific questions about Hawke, Sebastian, Blondie, the elf - anyone."

Merrill sighed. "Make up your minds!"

"I never realized how much satisfaction Fenris' jabs gave _me_," Aveline said in a low voice. "I miss him."

"Hey!" Merrill gasped, hurt in her large eyes.

Aveline sighed and smiled slowly. "I'm sorry, Merrill. Now, would you please tell us exactly what happened, where, and when? We will need every detail."

"Well, when I woke up this morning," Merrill began, "I found myself thinking that I would wear my light blue stockings, since it was such a sunny day, and…"

"Daisy, would you mind just jumping to the part where you saw this fellow?" Varric interrupted, before Aveline could say anything.

"Oh, of course," she said sweetly. "Well, I was at the apparel shop in Lowtown, buying some stockings, when I heard someone say 'Vael', which, of course, got me listening. I realized there was a man down the stairs, at the trinket shop, asking about Sebastian. But the lady who owns the shop couldn't quite make out what he was asking, and had to keep making him repeat himself."

"And he was asking?" Aveline said encouragingly.

"Oh blimey, I have no idea at all. He was bloody impossible to understand."

Merrill related the rest of the event, with Varric and Aveline listening attentively.

"So, he went to three different shops? And his questions were the same each time?" Aveline queried.

Merrill nodded. "Yes, at least they sounded the same to me, but nobody was be able to truly understand him, and eventually, he left in a huff, taking the stairs up toward Hightown," she explained.

"And you're sure he was dressed as a nobleman?" Varric asked.

"Uh huh, yes, he was wearing very fine silks," Merrill answered.

"Probably staying in Hightown, then, don't you think?" he asked of Aveline, who nodded her agreement.

"Merrill, can you give us some more detail about the man's accent?" Aveline requested. "Perhaps you could imitate it?"

Merrill shook her head. "Oh no, it was very fast, and all the words seemed to run together," she explained, but then looked thoughtful. "Actually, do you remember that time that Sebastian was stung on the lip by a bee? The man sounded a lot like Seb did, once his mouth was all swollen up."

Varric and Aveline exchanged a quick glance.

Merrill placed her hand on her stomach. "I'm famished. I'm going to go down to the bar and order some stew. Would either of you care for any?"

Both Aveline and Varric shook their heads, and Merrill left Varric's private room.

"When Seb's mouth was swollen?" Aveline repeated.

"Sounds odd, but if you think about the few folks we've known from Starkhaven, well, Choir Boy's lost a good bit of his accent," Varric reasoned. "_But_, if someone was just arriving from there, it stands to reason they might be pretty darned hard to understand."

Aveline arched an eyebrow. "They may be so."

Varric tapped his chin. "Dinner tomorrow?"

"Yes," she agreed quickly. "I should be able to have something by then."

"Me too," he answered. "In the meantime, perhaps those complaints about the noisy guests at the Hightown Inn could be investigated?"

The corner of Aveline's mouth quirked. "Yes, I think I've heard how loud they can get myself; it may require that we visit each room to locate the culprits."

The captain stood, pushing her chair back noisily against the wooden floor.

"Well, at least you're no longer complaining of being bored," she noted, before saying her good night.

Varric's brow furrowed. "Should have kept my damned mouth shut," he muttered, chastising himself mentally. A moment later, he, too, left the room, determined to make the rounds, and see what he could learn about the man with the strange accent.

_**A huge thank you to Lisa, who has looked at this thing a total of FOUR times, as clearly, I'm insane.**_

_**I would like to thank Isabella Monroe for leaving my 200th review! I am looking forward to her introduction into this story, and we should be seeing her soon.**_

_**Thank you for reading, alerting, reviewing, and 'favoriting' this story. I am hugely grateful to each of you, and genuinely appreciate you giving me a few minutes of your valuable time. Thank You!**_


	18. Mine

**Mine**

Anders stared at the night sky, the dull humming inside his head lessening with each deep breath he drew.

It had been hours since the men following Celia had taken to their bedrolls, and not terribly long since the woman herself had finally walked from the campfire, seeking her tent at the edge of camp.

Anders' bedroll had been moved to the center of the camp, and the templar Henry had dumped him unceremoniously onto it. Celia had sat opposite Anders for the rest of the evening, her hard eyes never leaving him for long, and he had felt the challenge she'd issued with each cold stare.

Now, however, silence abounded, and his mind struggled to push beyond the fatigue of the templar's smite, Celia's taunting hints about Lorelai replaying endlessly in his head.

Anders had considered their entire altercation; Celia's teasing jabs, her baiting of him. She claimed to know who he really was, and, for a time, he pondered the fullness of what that remark had meant. Had his name truly become so widely known that it was now being muttered in backwater barrooms?

For years Anders had struggled to remain anonymous, the benefit, of course, being that his efforts to aid, smuggle and free his fellow mages could proceed without impediment. Lorelai had been the one known to all, and she'd had to deal with the comfort or conflict her notoriety might bring.

He had simply enjoyed the protection which came from it.

Anders knew he should be panicked at this new knowledge, and that he should consider his own safety if others around him knew he was the mage who had killed the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. He imagined there was a healthy bounty on his head, and knew that there would be many eager to collect it.

But, despite the fear gnawing at his belly, the only thing he could focus upon was the sound of Lorelai's name passing through Celia's ugly lips. He sneered, closing his eyes, and imagined Celia's face.

He would get the answers to his questions from the cruel shrew, one way or another; of that, he had already vowed to himself.

If Lorelai was in danger, if things in Kirkwall had become too threatening, then he would move heaven and earth to get to her. She would need him.

She would forgive him, and there was no one who would keep him from her.

Anders' eyes flicked to the closed flap of Celia's tent, and then to the sleeping form of the henchman and templar, Henry, sleeping just a few feet from him; an old, familiar hate curled and licked its way through his heart.

"No one," Anders swore under his breath, his eyes then returning to the beauty of the stars.

**xXx**

Lorelai stared at her reflection in the elegant mirror, her eyes scanning the ever-changing curves of her figure. Her nightgown was thin, the cotton soft and loose around her; she gathered the extra fabric and pulled it tight at her lower back, the sheer white material clinging to the front of her body.

It was no longer anything less than apparent she was pregnant, and she considered the babe within, wondering for the first time what was occurring in her womb.

Did its heart beat? Did it feel hunger? Did it have fingers and toes?

Brown eyes?

She sighed, running her hand under the curve of her belly. Sebastian had been right, something she was discovering was a normal occurrence. She needed to change her way of thinking.

_But how?_ she considered. _How do I change what's in my heart?_

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, and opened them to gaze at the coffered ceiling above her.

This baby was everything she had never wanted; it was the result of her own stupidity and its father's deceptiveness. It was a curse, not a blessing, it could destroy the rule of the man she was beginning to love by simply opening its eyes, it was…

Lorelai gasped, her hands flying to her middle, the loose fabric billowing around her once more. She held her breath, her very heart seeming to wait with her.

Again! "What was that?" she whispered, her hands clutching her middle.

It was _moving_!

"It's moving!" she exclaimed in disbelief, until again, the gentle flutter moved slightly. She looked down at her belly. "It's…y_ou're_ moving."

Her chin trembled, mixed emotions rioting within her as she felt the life inside of her shift once more. Tears gathered in her eyes as the dark thoughts of a few moments earlier gave way to an unexpected excitement.

"Lorelai? Darlin'?" called Sebastian's voice from outside of their room, and she turned to see him enter. "There's to be yet another reception for us tomorrow morni…" he stopped a few feet from her, uncertainty in his features. "What it is? Why are you cryin'?" he demanded as he hurried to close the distance between them.

She burst out with laughter.

"Feel this!" she exclaimed, pulling him to stand behind her, her back pressed against his front. She took both of his large hands and placed them under hers, holding them firmly against where she had last felt the baby move. "The baby's moving!"

A slow smile blossomed across his tanned face, his blue eyes twinkling with immediate excitement. "You felt it?" he asked, running his hands over her center. "And you're happy about it?"

She nodded rapidly, her answer tumbling from her. "I did! I am! I can't believe it, but I am! Here!" she rambled, moving his hands quickly to the next spot. "I felt it several times! It was amazing!"

She felt another tiny movement and she chased it with their joined hands. He grinned widely and held her close, each waiting to feel the child's motion.

"Did you feel that?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, but you did?"

She nodded again. "What about that?" she asked, shifting his hands.

Again he shook his head. "It may be too soon for me to feel it," he observed. "The mother usually feels the bairn before others can."

"Oh," she answered softly, looking crestfallen. "I wish you could, it was wonderful," she said wistfully. She gazed at their reflection. "I wish it was ours."

Their fingers entwined, he wrapped his arms around her, so that she was hugging herself as he held her. "It is," he reassured her gently, and placed a small kiss to her ear.

She held tight to his hands, and brought them back to her middle, where she released him and he rubbed her growing bump slowly. "You were right," she whispered, looking down at herself.

He leaned close and smelled the lavender in her hair. "About?"

"Me. I need to change how I'm thinking about things, I see that now," she explained quietly. "To be honest, I saw it then, too," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "But I wasn't ready. I am now."

"And what do you intend to change?"

She caught his hand and studied his knuckles. "I need to let go of my fear, and to trust you. I need to hope. I need to have faith; in myself, in you…in, well, in us." She dropped his hand, waiting for his reaction.

Her green eyes met his blue ones in the mirror, and she saw as his gaze travelled her length. She gasped as he slowly ran a single hand up her side, his fingertips grazing the edge of her breast before drifting back to her waist.

She guided his hand, bringing it back to the outside of her breast, as she pressed her back against his chest.

He kissed her ear again. "I love you, Lorelai," he breathed, sending goosebumps over her skin. She moved his hand to cup her breast and he became still.

"I need to go forward. _We_ need to go forward," she said quietly, looking at him again in their reflection. "I want you for my own, Seb," she confessed.

His eyes closed but his hand began to caress her. "Are you mine to love, then?" he asked shakily, his voice not nearly as steady as his hand.

"Yes," she admitted. "I'm yours, I don't want anyone else."

He slowly turned her to face him, his blue eyes intense. "Say it again," he demanded in a low tone.

"I'm yours."

He cupped her chin and brought her lips to his, kissing her slowly, but with a sensuality she had never felt before. Her eyes slid shut, her small hands wrapping around his middle and she drew languid, deliberate circles up his chest. Every fiber of her body responded to his tender passion, and to the feel of his warm lips moving to her shoulder as he stroked her with his warm hands.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as he stepped back from her, his sky-blue eyes locked with hers as he tugged his doublet open and pulled it, and his shirt, over his head in one graceful motion. He returned to her but she flattened her palm against his toned chest.

"Lorelai?" he rasped, misunderstanding her gesture.

"Tell me you won't regret this later," she pleaded, needing to be certain he wanted them to take this step together.

His eyes regained their focus, and, with clarity in his gaze, he nodded. "I will not regret this, and, I think, neither will you. This is right."

She smiled softly and leaned in to kiss his bare flesh, her small mouth feathering kisses across his collar bone. She heard him begin to pant, his reaction fueling her desire to fully explore his skin.

He cupped the back of her head, guiding her mouth to his dark nipples and he hissed as she tasted him.

"Och! It's too much," he breathed. In a quick motion, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss before bending to grasp at the hem of her nightgown. "I have to see you," he grunted, fumbling to gather all the fabric and lift it up.

With a blush that surprised her, she turned her head and smiled softly. "Let me," she whispered and slowly untied the laces at her shoulders; a moment later she slid the soft material down her frame and stood naked before him. A jolt of self-consciousness fired through her heart, and she placed her hands over her stomach.

"I'm so different now," she said sheepishly. "I must look…"

"Like a goddess," he interrupted, his eyes drinking her in. "Like a perfect, beautiful," he paused, stroking her from hip to breast, teasing the peaks with his calloused fingers, "goddess," he finished.

His eyes were dark with need, and he stooped, lifting her off her feet, bringing her breasts within reach of his talented mouth. She gasped at his ardor, her head falling back as he laved her.

He moved them to the large bed and laid her onto its pillowed top, and she nearly cried in distress when he left her. The protest died in her throat, being quickly replaced by a moan of pleasure as he turned his attention to the rest of her body.

Lorelai desperately wanted to reciprocate, she wanted to stroke him, to touch him, but he evaded her and effortlessly kept her subdued in a haze of urgent need. Lost in him, she felt the strength of his rogue's fingers part her heat and her world crashed into a million perfect pieces.

"Sebastian!" she screamed, her body thrilling in his skilled touches, and she heard him growl.

He rose to his knees and discarded the rest of his clothes, her eyes taking all of him in. "Maker, help me!" she breathed in excitement as he moved over her.

"Lorelai, I need you so badly," he groaned as he brought himself to her.

With a whine that told him she too had was in need, he slowly sheathed himself, and nearly bellowed in the pleasure of it. Her mouth found his, and she clung to him as they moved together, panting his name against his cheek.

The countless nights of want and need gave way to an unbridled passion, and together, they found their end. Sagging against her, careful not to rest his full weight, Sebastian's body gloried in the feel of her met want. They cradled one another, before he carefully rolled them over, not releasing her as they turned.

She kissed the side of his shoulder, and he settled her against his broad chest, ensuring that they were as close as possible.

"Sebastian," she said, in a breathy tone. "Oh blimey, Seb, I can't, I mean…" she paused, her head dropping back onto his shoulder.

"Blimey?" he repeated. "'Blimey', she says. No tender words? I realize it's been fifteen years, and I may be a bit rusty, but I had hoped for more than a 'blimey'!"

She playfully slapped his chest. "Stop it!" she giggled. "That's not what I meant!"

He rolled her onto her back, a goofy grin on his handsome face. "Well, that, Darlin', is what you said!"

She tried to force a pout, but couldn't contain her smile. "I ran out of energy before I could finish my sentence."

"Did you?" he queried, his features softening.

"Yes," she answered. "I meant to say, 'Oh blimey, Seb, you amazing man…remind me to thank that scullery maid!" she joked, laughing at his gaping jaw, laughter which turned to shrieks, as he tickled her.

"Cheeky lass!"

They laughed together, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Once more, he rolled them over, and she propped her chin onto her fist, her elbow tucked against his armpit, a comfortable quiet between them.

"We fit together very nicely," he whispered, his fingers playing with her tousled hair. She grinned and giggled. "That's _no'_ what I meant, Darlin'," he corrected, having actually been referring to how perfectly they were snuggled close.

"Cheeky lad," she teased, copying his brogue, and then cocked her head thoughtfully, her smile slowly evaporating. "I think I'm in love with you," she confessed.

His hand stilled in her curls, and she bit her lip, unsure of what he was thinking.

"Nothing would give me more joy, Lorelai, than to have you love me," he finally answered, his voice tight with emotion.

She smiled softly, and lowered her head, resting her cheek against his chest.

"Seb?"

"Yes, wife?"

She closed her eyes as happiness washed over her, realizing that now, truly, she was indeed his wife.

"I like the sound of that," she answered.

His arms tightened around her. "Aye, as do I." He was quiet for a moment, and she felt him shift, getting comfortable. "Lorelai, what were you going to say?"

"Huh? Oh," she looked up at him, a sly grin on her lips. "You're not _that_ rusty, but I think we will need to keep practicing."

"Agreed," he replied with a low chuckle before rolling her onto her back, and kissing her again.

**xXx**

A shrill voice reverberated through the camp, shattering the quiet of early dawn.

"Get up, you lot! Move your worthless arses!" cried Celia, banging a metal spoon against a cast iron pan. "You bitches have got ten minutes to piss, shit, and eat! We'll get to my ruins today, and I want every one of you on your damned toes! Go on!"

A collective groan from those in camp was heard as everyone came to their feet, and the day began.

"Oy! Mage!" Celia bellowed from across the camp. "We need to talk!"

Anders ground his teeth, but approached the woman as he was bade.

"I think we said all there was to say," he stated firmly once he had arrived at her side.

She arched an eyebrow, and ignored his comment, instead, turning on her heel and gesturing for him to follow her. She led him well out of hearing range of the others before she turned back to face him.

"Are we going to have a problem, now, you and me? Did you get the message last night? Or will I need to have Henry tether you with a rope?" she asked in a sharp tone.

"I realize that I am your _hostage_, now, yes," Anders answered in an equally sharp voice. "Care to share your plans with me? Or shall I wait with bated breath to find out if it includes murdering me?"

"You know all about _murder_, don't you, Anders?" she said in an accusatory sneer. "Let's get a few things straight. I know you're the mage that blew up half of Kirkwall, but I'm the only one here that does."

He stared down at her, his features a mask of boredom. "I expect you know a great deal less than you realize, but, please, continue."

"Arrogant prat," she spat. "The bounty on your head is bloody impressive, apostate, and there's more than a few of the fellows here that would simply put your head in a sack and hand it over to the Templars."

"And you're not on that list?"

Celia's eyes flashed. "No. I've got enough sense not to shit where I eat; I need you until I get those ruins cleared, and what's in the ruins makes your bounty look like a pittance."

"Do you intend to leave me alone once this is through?" he demanded.

She paused, seeming to consider his question. "Yeah. I'll keep my end up, if you behave." They stared at one another for several tense moments until Celia continued. "Henry's got orders to never leave your side, and that includes when we finally get into the ruins."

"Just when is that, by the way, Celia? We've been following your pox-riddled arse for weeks now, and still, I haven't seen a damned thing."

She forced a laugh. "Today, as a matter of fact. It's less than two kilometers away, and that's the other reason we need to talk."

"Go on, then."

"I've been in those ruins, mapped them with a group about a year ago," she began. "It's older than the Maker himself, I think, and…"

"Wait. If you mapped the fucking thing, why the hell are we here to fight men who stole the map?" Anders interrupted. "Are you so thick you don't remember the job?"

"Look, the place is full of booby traps!" she snapped, flushing red at his accusation. "I mapped a portion with a few mates, and each of us took a section. I know my share, but need the map of the rest; almost every open room has got something horrible just waiting for an unsuspecting arsehole. It would be stupid to go in without it!"

"So just where are these 'mates' of yours now, Celia?"

Her gaze locked with his, and a deadly smile spread across her gnarled face. "My point, Mage, in sharing this, is I need you to be prepared to deal with not only stab wounds and broken heads, but poisons and hexes as well. Can you do that?"

"What are you going to do about the possibility that the men who are already in the ruins haven't got a few mages of their own?" he asked.

"That's what the fuck Henry is for, isn't it?"

Anders felt a bubble of hope. "So you want him to smite them? With me standing right bloody next to him? That's the plan?"

Celia's brow furrowed, her confusion obvious.

"You really are as thick as you look!" he guffawed. "Are you aware that my mana will be decimated as well? Just how do you think I'll be healing and un-hexing you if I'm flat on the dirt?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't answer. Instead, she began to walk around Anders in a tight circle.

Anders found her uncertainty incredibly satisfying. "Was it something I said?" he asked innocently, a cold smile in his voice.

She stopped abruptly, her back to him. "Just do what the fuck you're told to do, _Anders_, or things will go real bad for you today, understand me?"

He held back a chuckle. "Sure, Celia, whatever you say. Rest assured, if you're dead at day's end, it won't be from a… lack of _effort_ my part."

She turned to eye him, and he saw he'd gotten to her. "Go eat, Mage."

He nodded once, striding swiftly past her, and descended into the camp, Henry arriving at his side before he reached the bubbling pot of porridge. Scooping up a portion, and grabbing a dirty bowl, he pulled his spoon out of his coat and tucked in.

"It's going to be a very good day, don't you think, Henry?" he asked jovially, as he filled his grumbling stomach.

**xXx**

Lorelai sat naked, straddling her husband.

"I'm famished," she observed, glancing around the room. "I wonder what time it is?"

Sebastian pushed up onto his elbows. "I expect it's well past midnight," he guessed.

"Oh," she muttered. "Think the kitchens are empty? Could we sneak down and make something to eat?"

He nodded. "Of course, what would you like?"

"No, I'll go with you," she replied, beginning to climb out of their bed. "I'll only change my mind eleven times about what I'm hungry for, anyway. If I go down, I'll be able to figure it out."

He grinned at her and padded past her, and found his breeches, pulling them on. He shrugged a loose tunic over his head, as Lorelai finished wrapping herself in her dressing gown.

"Come on, Darlin'," he said quietly, reaching for her hand. "But we must be quick: Mrs. Hutchinson will no' be happy if she finds out we were in her kitchens."

Together, they hurried through the massive home, realizing as they went that Sebastian's estimate of the hour had actually been earlier than the actual time. A large clock chimed three times as they finally entered the servants' hall, and took the flight of steps down into the kitchens.

Giggling like children, they darted around the huge room, gathering up various items and piling a large plate high with a myriad of food, Lorelai snacking all the while.

As she returned to add a small bunch of grapes to the plate, popping three in her mouth before placing them on the piled food, Sebastian reached out and softly clasped her wrist. "Here, try this, it's a rare treat," he said, holding up a plate.

She looked suspicious, and arched her eyebrow. "It looks like a spotted, uh, well, it's a mound of some sort. What is that?"

He laughed. "Don't you trust me?"

She shook her head. "Not with my stomach I don't; I saw you eat that sheep's stomach the other day!"

He snorted. "You need to learn to appreciate the foods of your new home," he teased.

"Then the cooks of my new home need to put the food in something other than animal innards."

He took a knife off of a nearby chopping table. "It's worth a try, Lorelai," he said in a persuasive voice as he sliced into the brown, speckled lump.

"It's _brown_. I want to know the name."

He sliced a piece out of it, and she noticed it cut just like a cake. "Oh! Is that? Are those currants?"

"Perhaps," he drawled.

"I love currants," she said softly, biting her lip. "Is it sweet?"

Sebastian enjoyed an exaggerated bite of the thick slice. "Perhaps," he repeated, his mouth crammed full.

"The name, Seb. What do you call it?"

She watched him moan in dramatic appreciation as he swallowed. "The Maker blessed Avery with a fine cooking staff!"

He began to take another sizable bite.

"Wait! Okay, I'll try it."

He smiled and held out the slice, not allowing her to take it, but clearly offering her a bite. Her eyes full of suspicion and locked with his, she leaned close and took a nibble, prepared to hate the as yet unnamed food.

He laughed at her surprised expression. "See, lass? You don't know everything, now do you? Hey!" he cried out as she snatched the piece out of his hands.

She didn't make it very far before he had her from behind, his arms around her chest, lifting her off the floor. She was laughing and kicking her feet, all the while holding the treat aloft.

"Ya wee harpy! Give me back ma clootie!"

She stopped squirming as she guffawed, and he placed her back on her feet. "Your 'clootie'? Did you just ask me to give back your '_clootie'_?" He smiled and nodded, and she burst into laughter. "Honestly, do you people not have _any_ normal words?"

"It's a clootie dumpling, it's divine, and, as you're one of us now, you'd best watch out about those 'normal' words, Darlin'," he countered, stealing another bite before she could snatch her hand back.

"Be that as it may, it's still mine!" she declared and tried to move past him, but again, he simply picked her up off of the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her small belly meeting his trim one as she held the clootie above his head.

"Aye, and you're mine," he said in a husky tone, before carrying her out of the kitchens, and taking her back to their rooms.

**xXx**

The last of the shrieks were killed by Celia and Henry, before she ran down a dark corridor, giving chase to one of the few remaining scavengers inside the ruins, Henry following close behind.

Anders stood in the center of the large room, the destruction impressive. The few columns which supported the ceiling above him were nearly all that remained; the walls, chests, and contents of the room obliterated by the hard fighting.

It had been this way throughout most of their day long struggle to retake the ruins. Celia had underestimated the size of the group holding them, and despite Anders' sincere efforts, nearly every man who had entered the ruins had lost their life within.

There were now only Celia, Henry, and two other men left to fight, and despite the odds, their group was now hunting down the last of the current occupants. Anders heard Henry bellow back up the corridor that it was clear for him to enter, and Anders soon caught up with the others.

"I've got it!" Celia cried when Anders joined them. "I've got the map! We just need to kill the last few stragglers and we can head down!" she advised him triumphantly.

Anders' eyebrow arched. "We've been fighting most of the day; just where do you think we're heading down to?"

Celia shot him a scathing look. "The treasure is on the level beneath this one – that's why we needed the map, that's where the booby traps are!"

One of the men, a fellow called Jake, looked confused. "You mean, it ain't here?"

Celia turned to him as she stuffed the map down the front of her shirt. "No, it ain't here," she mimicked. "Why would I fight to the center of a ruin full of booby traps just to get a map of the booby traps? I wouldn't need any more once I found it, we'd already be at the center, you twat!" she snapped. "The map is for the next level, fellows, and _that's_ where the loot is."

She gestured to Henry. "Let's go, I want to make camp at the entrance below, so we need to finish flushing out these arseholes."

Jake exchanged a look with his companion, while Henry predictably fell in behind Celia.

"Do either of you need any healing?" Anders queried.

"No, we're good," answered Jake. "Doesn't seem like you're too good at that anyway, considering all of my mates are dead, aren't they?"

Anders felt the sting of the intended insult and bristled. "I can't heal a man who's been sliced in two! I'm a healer, not a miracle worker."

The man next to Jake raised his hand, placing it at the base of his throat. "No, you might not be, but she is," he stated, showing them his flaming sword pendant beneath the collar of his leathers. "There's a reason I ain't dead yet; Andraste will guide me through this, and, if you cunts are smart, you'll ask her to do the same for the both of you."

Anders glared. "My, a murdering Andrastian? Hardly ever run into _those_. Wonder how the Maker's bride would like you saying her name, and cunt, all in the same breath," he observed wryly, smirking as the man blanched.

Jake arched an eyebrow. "You don't believe in Andraste?" he challenged.

Anders forced a laugh. "I believe in my magic, I believe in wine, and I believe in the woman I love. Other than that, most of it's shite."

"Oy!" bellowed Henry from the far end of the room. "Get moving!"

"Did you just call Andraste _shite_?" strangled out the other man.

Jake shook his head. "Whatever, Mage, you don't have to convince me it's all crap," he replied. "But I think I'll keep playing the part of the faithful until I see the sun again, all right?"

His friend looked shocked. "What? Jake, not you too?"

Anders laughed and moved to follow them.

**xXx**

The group rested for a few hours at the entrance to the sub-level of the ruins, each too tired to bother with eating first.

Celia roused them all late, and they ate dried meat in silence, she and Henry stepping away to study the map together before they would all descend the short flight of steps to the next set of ruins. Their plans in place, they gathered their items, and approached the massive doors that blocked their entrance.

"The seal I put on these is gone," Celia observed with a frown, pointing at remnants of wax. "I knew they'd been in the place a good week before we'd gotten here, but I'd hoped they hadn't figured the locks out that quickly," she continued, looking over the doors as she reached for one of the iron handles.

"It's got several wards on it," Anders said calmly. "Just so you know."

Celia's hand froze. "Get rid of them!" she ordered, backing away slowly.

"They're only wards, Celia, they're not going to bite," Anders quipped.

She glared at him. "Get rid of them!" she repeated again, enunciating each word clearly.

"Not even a please?"

Henry lashed out and punched Anders solidly in his middle, nearly causing him to drop where he stood. Gasping for breath, he clutched his belly, and straightened slowly. "That wasn't the magic word," he rasped.

A cold blade was laid against his throat.

Anders moved forward and began removing the wards, dispelling their magical threat. The group waited silently behind him as he worked.

Once complete, Celia shoved past him, and proceeded into the sub-level. Anders watched her go, Jake and the other man close behind her; he glanced up to see Henry waiting for him.

"Let's go, apostate," the burly man commanded. "Stay close; there are a lot of tricks down there."

"Then why aren't you with Celia? You two seem to have become bosom buddies."

"'Cause I don't aim to let _you_ become one of those tricks," Henry snarled. "You do anything other than what she tells you, and I'll make sure you and your cursed magic get left in one of those trapped rooms to fend for yourself."

The mage and the templar stared at one another for a tension-filled moment, taking the other's measure, before Anders finally turned and entered the newly-opened hall, Henry hot on his heels.

**xXx**

The second set of ruins appeared to be completely different from the first, giving Anders cause to believe the surface structures had been built on top of the sub-level, though there appeared to be several hundred years of time between the two types of construction.

These older ruins weren't all that different from the ones he and Lorelai had explored when they were helping Merrill to speak with the demon she had struck her evil bargain with. In actuality it was the Dalish blood mage's Keeper who would bring an end to Merrill's quest, but while they'd still been unaware of the fight waiting for them deeper in, Lorelai had been distracted by the artifacts strewn about.

He remembered she had wandered off, into a small tunnel, and didn't readily return. Growing concerned, he'd followed her in, only to find her sitting on the floor, trying to reassemble some sort of crockery.

There'd been a shaft of sunlight shining down on her, and she'd looked ethereal, sitting there amongst the dirt and debris.

"_Come look at this, love!" she'd said excitedly, finally noticing his arrival. _

"_The others are waiting," he'd reminded her as he squatted down next to her._

"_I'll just be a moment," she'd said dismissively. She held up the largest portion of intact pottery. "What do you think this was? I wonder how old all of this is. Look at this pattern, it's extraordinary!"_

_He'd smiled at her, her child-like curiosity warming his heart. "You're extraordinary," he'd observed. _

_She'd given him her full attention then, turning to him and then rising up to kiss his mouth. "You're not so bad yourself," she'd said, before turning her focus back to her find._

_He'd pulled her against him, his hand sliding up her jerkin, and teasing a breast. "Do you think the others will think less of me if I were to make love to you, here on the floor?"_

_She'd gasped, dropping her fragment before she'd pushed herself hard against him. "I won't."_

The memory drifted away, his focus returning to the present. If he had any hope of returning to her, to their family, he needed to get out of this situation, and, to do that, he was prepared to take any measures needed.

Celia was being very successful at disarming the few booby traps that they'd come across, and they'd worked their way through what Anders estimated was almost half of the structure. Now, once more, they were outside of two great doors, Celia intensely reading her map.

"Here," she muttered, pushing on a particular spot of the ornate carvings that covered each door. "Here," she repeated, "and here." Touching her fingers to two more specific points, there was a horrendous sound of metal scraping across metal, and the doors shuddered in their frames.

She stood back, smiling at the effectiveness of her handiwork, and once the noise ceased, gestured to Jake.

"You," she began. "In you go," she ordered. "There is a very precise order of where you can walk in there," she explained. "So listen to every direction I give you, or you'll die."

Jake's eyes widened, but he gave her a curt nod, and, standing at the threshold of what appeared to be an enormous, but very dark chamber, she called out which tile to place his first step on.

Watching Jake's progress, he got about twenty feet into the room before she called him to a halt. "What can you see?"

"Not a damned thing," he replied over his shoulder, careful not to move his feet from their placement.

"Henry, get it ready," she muttered to the templar. "Oy!" she yelled to Jake. "I'm throwing you an unlit torch! You still got the flint I gave you earlier?"

"Yeah, I got it!"

"Good," she answered. "Here it comes!"

Henry took the cue and expertly threw the torch, landing two tiles to the left of Jake.

"Can I grab it?" Jake asked Celia.

"Do it without moving your feet," she replied.

Jake began to lean down, but wobbled where he stood.

"Stupid git," Celia complained under her breath.

Anders stepped forward. "Jake! Don't lean over! Try squatting down, and then stretching for it!"

Anders saw Jake nod his understanding and the man crouched down, balanced his stance, and gingerly reached the end of the torch. The tile between Jake and the torch gave way as he dragged the grasped it.

"Fuck!" Jake yelled, standing up. "What the hell?"

Celia laughed. "I told you to watch your feet, didn't I?"

Jake tucked the torch under his armpit and got the flint from his pocket. Striking it three times, he got a solid spark to hit the resin-soaked tip, and the torch illuminated the area surrounding hm.

"Maker's breath!" Henry whispered, as the chamber was filled with light.

It was huge, the other end of the chamber still not visible, even with the light. The floor appeared to be covered with thousands of uniform tiles, and, at the far left side wall, was an enormous font. It reflected the light, and appeared to be made of solid gold, but more than that, its intricate decorations seemed to be of precious gems, and there were mounds of treasure surrounding its base.

She ordered Jake's companion in behind him, and the man was trembling as he passed them.

Anders turned to Celia. "_This_ is the part of the map that _you_ made, isn't it? I'll bet those so-called mates of yours never even had a chance to learn any of this was here."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Finders, keepers, Anders. They'd have done the same to me."

"You're horrible," he whispered.

"Well, I'll be sure to ask the _Grand Cleric_ for absolution, next time I'm in Kirkwall," she countered. "You're next, I think, Mage."

"I think not!" he argued. "Why? So you can knife me in the back? Push me off of my tile? Or did you plan on giving me bad directions, and letting gravity do your dirty work?"

Celia's lip curled in anger. "You little fucker, I told you, I _need_ you! I can't get the wards off of the treasure without you!"

He considered her words and looked over at Henry. "Fine, but send _him_ ahead of me! Give me something, or you lose me here and now!"

She flicked her eyes to Henry. "Do it," she ordered.

"Celia!" Henry protested.

"Shut up and go! It's fine, I can handle him," she reasoned, forcibly turning a very angry Henry. With another push, the man stood at the threshold of the chamber, and placed his boot on the first tile.

Suddenly, he turned toward Anders and began to bellow. "No!" he cried, sensing magic beginning to gather around them. Anders, knowing the man was preparing to smite him, rushed forward, pushing him further in, and off of his safe tile.

Henry's screams plummeted with him.

The smite, though weak, reached Anders and he felt his mana drain considerably, but not completely. Celia shrieked from behind him as he slammed the doors separating them from the two remaining men, and he felt the edge of her dagger slice against his forearm before he could turn to face her.

He hit her with a blast of cold air, effectively disabling her, but it stole away the last of his magic. Swiftly, he grabbed her dagger from her hand, wrenching it free from her grasp as she began to recover.

They rolled across the floor, both struggling for dominance, but Celia took advantage of his weakened state and turned the blade against him, and he felt the tip of it pierce his skin beneath his collar bone.

She was straddling him, her full weight pressing down on the blade as he used every ounce of his wavering energy to hold it at bay.

She smiled.

"I've been thinking about gutting you for weeks, you pile of shit," she taunted. "I should have killed you once I figured out who you were!"

He bucked and her hold on the dagger faltered briefly, but long enough for him to force it off of his skin.

"I've spent far too long with you looking down your nose at me and my crew," she continued, "and it turns out you murdered the Grand Cleric! You turned Kirkwall into a warzone, and you've got the balls to call _me_ a killer?"

He managed to roll them to their side, and the position forced her to drop the blade. He snatched it up.

She attacked him then, raining blows down on him until he kicked out and connected his boot with her face. For a few critical seconds, she was stunned, and he leapt on top of her, placing the blade fully against her throat.

Their eyes locked and each was panting hard.

"Tell me what," he began, his breath in gasps, "tell me what you know about Lorelai!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Go fuck yourself!"

He grabbed her hair beside her ear and slammed her head back against the stone floor. "Tell me!"

"Fuck you!" she replied, her speech duller than a moment earlier.

Again, he lifted her head and smashed it back, another blow quickly followed the previous. Her eyes were starting to lose their focus, and he knew she was injured. "Tell me!" he demanded again in a low voice.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes wandering for a moment. "The Champion? That was the piece you've been whining o'er?"

"Yes," he answered, not addressing her barb. "What about Lorelai?"

She closed her eyes, her features drooping.

"You need healing, Celia," he whispered, close to her ear. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll heal you."

Her eyes fluttered open. "Your precious love is..." she paused, screwing her eyes shut. "She's the Princess of Starkhaven now. She's traded her mad apostate in to fuck a prince!"

Sound rushed in Anders' ears, and he felt his stomach roll inside him, bile creeping up his throat. He sat back, Celia's words sinking into his soul like a poison.

"She don' wan' you," Celia continued, her words heavily slurred. "Yer nothin', just like I told ya," she finished.

"No!" he barked, his face twisting in agony. He looked down at the nearly unconscious woman beneath him. "You're lying!"

"Heal…me…" she stammered.

He sneered down at her. "You're lying to me! Lorelai would never…she's mine**...**she wouldn't…she…" his voice cracked and trailed off.

Celia strangled out her next words. "Yer nobody and she don' wan' you."

Hate and anger exploded inside his chest and he tossed the blade aside. Wrapping both of his hands fully into Celia's grimy hair, he leaned down, his face transformed into an ugly mask of furious, devastating rage.

"Celia? Go to the Void!" he rasped, and, lifting her head high, smashed her skull down again, one last time.

He dropped his grip and stood, pacing the area as his heart pounded.

"No! No! She loves me!" he said. He looked down at Celia's body. "You're wrong! I _know_ her!"

Stooping down, he searched Celia's leather breastplate for the map, and, retrieving it, he went to take up her supply pack. Throwing wide the door to the chamber, he took a calculated step inside.

Jake stared at him.

"Where's Celia? I saw you push Henry!" he yelled.

Anders' mind buzzed with the overwhelming events of the last few minutes. He needed to get out of there.

"Where's your pal?" Anders asked distractedly.

Jake pointed to a gaping hole in the floor. "He turned around and his tile gave out."

Anders nodded. "I've got the map," he stated.

"What happened to Celia?" Jake demanded.

"She bumped her head," Anders answered matter-of-factly. "I think you heard me; I've got the map. If you want to get out of here, you'd better start listening."

Jake appeared to consider this and finally nodded.

Anders looked down at the map, and, closing his eyes, drew a steadying breath. "Turn ninety degrees to your right," he began, "and take one step, over to the tile diagonal to your left foot."

Jake turned and stepped, his new tile quickly falling away from beneath him, and Jake disappeared from sight.

"I'm sorry," Anders whispered.

A few hours later, he emerged from beneath the surface, his pack full of sovereigns, dozens of large diamonds, and his heart dead in his chest.

_**Take heart Anders fans – all will be well, pinkie swear!**_

_**Thank you, Lisa, for your help with fleshing out this chapter. Thank you, also, for your continued grace and friendship – no pissing off for me -ever.**_

_**Thank you to each of you for reading, 'favoriting', setting an alert, and for reviewing. I'm so grateful to you, and appreciate you sticking with these imaginings of mine.**_


	19. Things We Hide

**Things We Hide**

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when a sound disturbed the silence in the room. Cameron's eyes drifted open, and he stretched slowly, unsure of what had awakened him. Turning, he saw that Marie slept soundly, flat on her back, her form tucked close to his own. His eyes fluttered shut.

Again the noise was heard, and this time, certain of what it was, he moved himself from his bed. Marie shifted and sighed, but did not stir.

Quickly, he pulled on a pair of cotton breeches, and, bare-chested, answered the door.

A footman stood silently, waiting for the Baron to speak. "Yes?" Cameron queried.

"I'm sorry, ma lord, to wake ye at this hour," the footman whispered. "A courier has arrived from Kirkwall, sent from yer contact there. He's been commanded that no matter the hour, he's tae speak tae ye at once, in private. What shall I tell him?"

Cameron frowned. "Tell him aye, and put him in my office, Kenneth. Make sure he's got somethin' to break his fast. I'll meet with him immediately."

The footman nodded. "Aye, ma lord, right away," he answered, and turned to do as instructed.

Cameron carefully shut the large, heavy door, and turned to glance back at Marie. He wasn't surprised to see she was sitting up, her eyes bleary but alert.

"What's going on?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"All's well, wifey. Go back to sleep, just a little somethin' for me to look after," he replied, forcing a casual smile as he hastened to dress.

Marie shot him a look of suspicion. "Right. A man from _Kirkwall_ is commanded to speak with you, in private, regardless of the hour? That's what you call a 'little' something?"

"Listenin' in on a private conversation is beneath you, Marie. I'm shocked, to say the least."

She laughed softly, rolling her eyes. "I'm so sorry to have offended, my lord," she replied in a grave tone, a teasing smile on her lips.

Cameron wiggled his eyebrows at her as he pulled on his boots. Striding across the room, he bent over the bed and kissed his wife slowly on her lips, before turning to go from the room.

Marie snuggled back down into her mound of pillows, punching and shifting them into place under her swollen belly until she found a comfortable position. "You're just going to tell me everything later, anyway," she called out, just as he'd nearly closed the door. She heard him snort.

"Then stick to what ye know, ye harpy, and wait for _later_ to pester me!" he replied before drawing the door closed.

With a quiet laugh, she decided to do just that, and drifted back to sleep.

**xXx**

Fenris, kneeling low next to a brimming stream, cupped his hands and splashed the swirling water over his head, saturating his hair.

The lack of rain this far north made this opportunity to bathe a true treat, as well as a necessity. The brooks and streams along his travels had proven nearly all dry, and, as his coin was limited, Fenris had no desire to spend it on bathing.

This stream was a very welcome find.

With graceful motions, he blindly located the small, gooey clump of scented soap placed on a rock beside his knee, and dislodged a minuscule portion of it. Washing his hair first, then his face, neck, and shoulders, he quickly rinsed away the grime of his journey.

Slicking his thick white hair out of his eyes, he turned his focus to his torso and then his feet. Once bathed, with the heat of the blossoming day quickly drying his skin, he washed his better undershirt, laying it out in the sun to dry.

His clothes and self fresh once more, he glanced down at his armor, laid carefully out on top of his bedroll. It still gleamed from its last oiling, and he deemed it suitable for wear. Maps and gossip from his travels told him he was less than a mile from a moderately large village, one purported to have a sizable merchant area, and one in which he hoped to find aid.

It had never been his desire to be open in his hunt for the runaway mage, and he had selected those he questioned with care, lest the abomination learn of his pursuit. Yet the trail - despite the murderer's name now being whispered by nearly every town's gossip - was growing cold.

Now, having found no hint of Anders in nearly two weeks, Fenris had concluded that there was little choice but to utilize his last possible resource: namely the Guard of whatever village, town, or watering-hole he was passing through.

Doing so would not be as simple. Many of the smaller towns viewed outsiders with suspicion, and it did not help his cause that he was an elf. Nothing would be as simple as walking in and asking pointed questions, and so he had designed a scheme, hoping it would help open a few crucial doors.

It was not a prospect he looked forward to. Distractedly, Fenris checked his undershirt, and, finding the front was dry, turned it over.

When he had realized he was running out of options, he had been unsettled at the only obvious course left to him. Personally, Fenris was not one to embellish his own importance; he had never felt compelled to, and doing so would go against the grain. He could only hope that the years of watching the haughtiest of nobles roam about Hightown would prove enough demonstration for his success. That, and Aveline would someday forgive his 'reconstruction' of the truth.

The distant sound of the chantry bell told him the time, and Fenris moved to dress. Gathering his belongings, he set out for the village at a quick pace, arriving a short time later.

The village was walled by an aged mixture of wood and stone with a smaller, sun-bleached watch tower erected near the main gate. Despite their worn appearance, the walls seemed solid, and capable of repelling a small force. Fenris moved toward the center of the village, which was bustling with early morning activity, to watch the flow and interaction of its people before he sought out a nearby guard.

"Good day, I wish to speak with your captain," Fenris began. "Kindly direct me to him."

The guard, tall even for a human, looked down his crooked nose to meet Fenris' gaze. "And just who are you to be wanting to speak to my captain? Take your complaints to your elder!"

Fenris slowly arched an ebony eyebrow; he had anticipated such a rebuff, but still found himself annoyed by it. He took an imposing step closer to the guard.

"I, _guardsman_, am Fenris, liaison of Aveline Vallen, the captain of the illustrious guard of Kirkwall," he stated stiffly. "I am here in pursuit of the possessed mage, the one who _murdered_ the Grand Cleric. I expect that you may have heard of this horrific event, even in this rather," he glanced around, pulling a sneer of contempt, "_distant_ location."

The other man's jaw dropped slightly and he shifted his weight nervously. "Well, of course I have! Everyone knows about that!" he replied hastily. A look of anxiety crept onto the guard's face. "But, why are _you_ here? In my town? You don't think…you don't think it, I mean, uh, he's _here_, do you?" he stammered as the color bled from his face. "Oh, Maker help us all!" he cried, his eyes again darting around the marketplace, as his hand came to rest on the hilt of his standard issue sword.

"Indeed. Perhaps you will _now_ direct me to your captain?" Fenris asked, his tone stern.

"Uh, yes ser! My apologies, ser!" the man answered. "Please! Come with me," he offered, and turned, leading Fenris out of the main thoroughfare. A moment later, the guardsman spotted a compatriot out on patrol. "Oy! Where's the captain?"

The second guard called back his reply, and within a few minutes, Fenris found himself waiting outside a warehouse as his escort entered to locate his captain. The guardsman returned swiftly, followed by a stout man whose face was marred by a jagged scar.

"Here he is, Captain!" the guardsman announced, gesturing toward Fenris. "Like I was telling you, he's here from Kirkwall, and he…"

The captain stepped past the guard. "Yes, so you said, Gilbert. Get back to your post, now, and thanks for the help." The captain halted in front of Fenris, and, with a heavy sigh, extended his hand. "Farris? Captain Jenkins, head of the town Guard," he stated.

Fenris met the man's hand in a firm shake. "Captain, it is an honor to meet you. I am _Fenris_, and I have arrived from Kirkwall in the pursuit of the rebel mage known as Anders. I request your aid."

The captain's face offered no hint as to what he thought of Fenris' statement. "Request it or demand it?"

"A mere request, Captain Jenkins," Fenris replied evenly. "Clearly, I have no right to demand anything of you."

The captain slowly grinned. "No, you haven't, but seeing as you're from Kirkwall, and knowing Vallen's reputation, I thought we'd best make that _real_ clear, up front," he finally replied. Fenris frowned slightly, causing Jenkins to hold up his meaty hand.

"Don't misunderstand me, Fenris. I admire Vallen; she cleaned up a real shithole and has held a city together with no leadership from above," Jenkins explained. "But she does have the reputation of a hardnosed, unrelenting bitch, and she's been known to elbow her way into a few places that aren't entirely her 'jurisdiction'. No offense."

Fenris couldn't help but smile. "None taken. Your description of Captain Vallen is neither inaccurate nor offensive. She is as you have stated, and Kirkwall is most appreciative that she is so."

"I bet it is," Jenkins replied and paused, clearly considering Fenris' words. "Well, why don't you walk with me back to my office and you can explain just what it is you're," he smiled, "_requesting_?"

Fenris bowed his head slightly. "I thank you for your time, Captain. Lead on."

**xXx**

Cameron was seated at his massive desk, having finished re-reading the letter ferried by the young man who sat nervously across from him.

"Hugo?" Cameron began, his mind reeling from its contents. "Hugo, I thank ye for bringing me this information. Was there anythin' else that Robert felt I needed to be aware of?"

Hugo shook his head. "Nay, ma lord," he replied. "Other than what's in the letter, and the rumors I've already repeated to ye, I've nothin' else to relate."

Cameron nodded, a potent mix of anger and betrayal forming a knot in his belly. "And yer _certain_ those rumors are as ye said?" he asked. The younger man nodded again, and Cameron sighed, struggling to maintain his composure. "The letter is dated only a week ago; ye traveled swiftly."

"Aye, ma lord," Hugo replied, sitting up with pride. "The lack of rain made the roads easy, and I changed ma horse."

"Ye have my gratitude," Cameron stated, opening a small drawer by his knee. He counted out five sovereigns. "For ye, and for yer extra effort," he said, handing the courier his tip. "Tell yer master I am very grateful for his discretion, and for his choice in couriers; that's yer tip, not yer pay."

Hugo stood and bowed low. "Thank ye, ma lord! I hope I might be of service to ye again, ser," he said excitedly, clutching the gold in his hand.

"Ye might," Cameron said matter-of-factly. "Ye will promise me that the rumors ye heard in Kirkwall won't be repeated here in Starkhaven."

"Yes, ma lord, not a word from ma lips, ser, I swear it to ye!"

Cameron nodded, forcing a smile. "I will hold ye to that," he answered coldly. Again, the false smile returned. "I invite ye to stay here, rest, and in a few days time, return to Kirkwall with my instructions," he said. "Mrs. Hutchinson will be able to make arrangements for yer comfort. Ye may go."

The man bowed again and left the room quietly.

Cameron looked back down at the letter from Kirkwall, considering the implications of the rumors he had just heard. Shaking his head, he angrily slammed his hand down, and then kicked at the leg of the desk, pushing his chair back with great force.

With purposeful strides, he crossed his office floor and threw open the door, charging into the bustling hall. The morning was now fully upon the mansion, and the staff, seeing the mood of their lord, quickly cleared a path.

His long legs quickly carried him to the second floor and down the corridors to the private family wing. Arriving at his destination, Cameron raised a balled fist and pounded on the door.

"Seb!" he barked, and, hearing motion inside the room, waited no longer to enter. "Seb!" he yelled again, throwing open the door and marching into the suite of the Prince and Princess of Starkhaven.

Lorelai was in the center of the large bed, the coverlets pulled high, her eyes wide with surprise. Sebastian was at the edge of the bed, naked, his face conveying his annoyance.

"Cameron! What in the Maker's name?" he demanded. "What's happening?"

Cameron's eyes narrowed. "Put on some bloody pants!" he commanded harshly. "When in the name of the Maker's sweaty balls were ye going to tell me, Sebastian?"

Sebastian slowly stood up, his eyes alight with anger. "Tell you what, Cameron?" he yelled back. "Why have you come in here like this? Lorelai's not dressed!" he stated, grabbing his breeches from a nearby settee.

Marie came running through the doorway, stopping short at the sight of Sebastian undressed. "Oh! I'm sorry, Sebastian!" she cried, covering her eyes hastily with her hands. "I heard Cameron yelling and came! What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that Seb here, my lifelong _pal_, has left us out on some very important information!" Cameron shouted. "How dare ye?" he hissed.

Sebastian, now as angry as Cameron, forgot about pulling his tunic over his head, and charged to where Cameron was standing. "Why are ye in here, braying like an ass?"

Cameron snorted, chest to chest with Sebastian, but his answer was interrupted by his wife. "Cam? What are you going on about? Is this about the courier?"

Cameron's eyes flicked from Sebastian's to his wife. "Hell, woman, ye can take yer hand off yer eyes now! He's got his blessed willy covered!"

"How was I to know?" Marie muttered, her hand falling away. She looked at Lorelai. "Are you all right?"

Lorelai, looking both confused and concerned, shrugged. "I think so," she replied.

"No! She's not _all right_; she's got a damned price on her life!" Cameron roared, taking a step back to jab his finger at Lorelai.

Marie gasped, and Sebastian swore under his breath. Lorelai looked away.

"And the contract has been in place since _before_ ye left bloody Kirkwall, hasn't it, _pal_?" Cameron finished in a sneer, looking back down at his prince.

Marie, gaping, quickly came to her senses, and hurried back out into the hall, loudly dismissing the growing crowd of staff that had begun to gather. Those in the room remained silent, even after her quiet return.

"Answer me, Seb," Cameron growled. "Did ye bring _her," _he pointed at Lorelai, "into _ma_ home, knowing full well that the Coterie are wantin' her dead?"

Sebastian met Cameron's gaze head on as he spoke in icy tones. "Cameron, I did not seek out your aid. You volunteered."

The punch came out of nowhere, and Sebastian staggered back, his nose spurting blood.

"What about ma girls!" the giant man yelled, raising his bloody fist again. "Ye bring her here _knowing_ someone may try to kill her? What about ma family?" Again, Cameron punched Sebastian, this time, the blow catching him in the belly.

Lorelai, the sheets in bunches, leapt out of the bed. "Stop it, Cameron! He was just trying to protect me!"

Cameron staggered back, as Sebastian straightened up. "Oh aye, he's trying to protect the mad apostate's _whore_!"

Lorelai went white as the baron's words sank into her mind.

"Argh!" Sebastian bellowed, tackling Cameron, knocking the larger man clean off his feet. Sebastian landed several solid blows to Cameron's face before he could recover, and both Marie and Lorelai were shouting as the men struggled for control of the ferocious fight.

Finally, Marie grabbed a vase from a side table and threw it at both men, the ceramic shards exploding near Sebastian's head. "Stop! Stop it now!" she shrieked.

Both men froze, blood oozing from their injuries. Marie hurried to the fireplace and snatched up the poker, brandishing it like a sword. "This stops now!" she commanded, her chest heaving. "Cameron, you will come with me, to our room, and Sebastian, you and your wife will get dressed, and we will all meet in Cameron's office in one hour's time!"

Cameron pushed to his knees and slowly stood, snarling. "Marie!"

She gave him a non-too-gentle rap on his thigh. "One hour! I will not have this in my home, am I completely clear?"

Sebastian, panting hard, sat up and wiped away the blood at his mouth and nose. "Aye," he replied in a raspy voice.

"Cam?" Marie demanded, her eyes narrowing as Sebastian got to his feet.

"Let's go," he hissed, pushing his way past Sebastian and leaving the room.

Marie looked at Lorelai and nodded. "I apologize," she said sincerely, lowering the poker, and then dropping it onto the floor.

Lorelai nodded once. "Me too, Marie," she whispered.

Marie turned and left.

**xXx**

En route to his office, Captain Jenkins suggested that as he had not yet eaten, he and Fenris might talk while taking their morning meal at the Broken Back Tavern. Fenris, sensing the captain was still uncertain whether or not to help him, readily agreed.

"What makes you think he's here, Fenris?" the burly man asked, arching a furry eyebrow as he settled into his favorite chair at his usual table. Immediately, a member of staff had greeted the captain by name, and he'd ordered two beef pastries and two ales.

Both men now comfortable, Fenris considered the captain's question. "I believe he is here because his trail runs cold less than ten miles from your town."

The barmaid arrived and quietly placed the two ales on the worn table.

Jenkins nodded his thanks and picked up his mug. "Ten miles is a big radius," he observed before taking his first sip. "But, as you're aware, there isn't a whole lot within ten miles that resembles a town; actually you could say that for the next twenty."

Fenris inclined his head. "Exactly so. I do not believe, based on the trail I have tracked, that the abomination would have had an opportunity to obtain supplies in any other location," he explained evenly. "These plains are rather barren and I…"

"Abomination?" Jenkins repeated, his eyes wide as he shifted forward in his seat. He lowered his voice. "Is that what he is? We're not prepared to deal with something like that! Wait, doesn't that make him a demon? Do demons need supplies?"

"Captain, please," Fenris interrupted, his own tone calm. "I apologize for my poor choice of words. Allow me to clarify," he paused, waiting for the other man to relax. "You see, the mage, Anders, became host to a spirit of the Fade nearly ten years ago. It is more accurate to say coexistence, than possession. The mage retains his normal physical features and does not stand out."

Jenkins shook his head. "So you're telling me, this Anders is sharing his body with a spirit?" Fenris nodded. "Now, let me understand, abominations are demons and mages merged, right?"

"Yes, you have that correct."

"And that's bad not just because they're demons," Jenkins continued, "but together, they're also very strong, yes? The only mages we encounter out here are the local kids that the Templars come to pick up, but I've talked with enough Templars, and heard enough tales, to know that abominations are really supposed to be damned hard to kill."

Fenris lifted his own mug and drank deeply. "That is an accurate assessment."

The captain's brow formed a deep 'V' and his dark eyes locked with Fenris'. "Would the same be true for this Anders, even if the thing in him _isn't_ a demon? Is he stronger than the average mage?"

Fenris lowered his mug. He knew in his gut the captain's willingness to help him was lessening, and wanted to allow the man a moment to settle. Dealing with possessed mages was not something any warrior would relish, let alone one responsible for safeguarding so many.

"I appreciate your concerns, Captain," Fenris began slowly. "This man is powerful, and yes, clearly he is very dangerous. As you know, he is responsible for a great deal of destruction and death."

At Fenris' lengthy pause, Jenkins reclined in his chair, his gaze hardening. "But?" he prodded.

"But," Fenris continued, "The aid I seek does not include asking for your men to risk their lives. I merely ask that the Guard, the people here, be vigilant. What I need, ser, is a hint, a clue as to his direction or intent," he explained. "That is all I ask."

Jenkins eyes shifted to look over Fenris' shoulder, and Fenris knew the man was considering his words.

"I do not wish any of your men, or the people you protect to be at risk," Fenris said, guessing the man needed more persuasion. "I give you my word, if your men help me in gaining some knowledge, I will be on my way."

"How do they do that? Are you wishing to interview them?"

Fenris nodded. "I wish to see if anyone has complained of a stranger in town; perhaps someone has had some sort of interaction with the mage," he explained. "A traveler who is elusive, or someone acting strangely; that is all the information I would require."

The captain considered this. "What about the rumors that tie Kirkwall's champion to him? Aren't you looking for her, too?"

Fenris frowned fiercely. "No. Those rumors are entirely _false_: Champion Hawke is innocent; Captain Vallen knows this."

Jenkins sighed. "That's it, then? You just want to talk with my men?"

"Yes, and I would also like to make inquiries of some of your merchants."

"And if you find nothing? What then?"

Fenris shrugged casually. "Then I go, and you do not give me another thought."

The older man fingered his table knife, lost in thought. The barmaid returned once more, this time delivering the fresh pastries. Each man expressed their thanks, and Jenkins began to eat.

For the next several minutes, they ate in silence, and, Fenris' concern that his arguments for aid may not been persuasive enough, began to grow. Uncertain of himself, and unwilling to press the man further, he opted to wait for the captain to resume their conversation.

"Let's say you find him, what will you do with him?" the captain finally asked, his pastry nearly finished.

Fenris did not hesitate. "I will kill him."

Jenkins snorted. "No trial? No arrest? You sure you work for Vallen?"

"His threat is too great," Fenris replied, his tone cold. "The man has murdered untold numbers; he is manipulative, cunning, and, I believe, desperate."

The captain nodded slowly. "That's the kind of man who will do almost anything, the kind of man to be feared," he observed. "All right, Fenris, you've got my help. We'll start you talking with the men already out on patrol; you can talk with the fellows coming off night watch in the morning."

"I am very grateful, Captain."

Jenkins again nodded. "Well, to be honest, I'll be grateful to see you go," he admitted. "I don't like the idea of this kind of trouble sniffing around my town."

Fenris inclined his head, and together, the men finished their pastries in silence.

**xXx**

The massive man crossed his arms over his chest. "You want your own bathtub? In your room? That's a very fancy request. You're not in Tevinter, ya know."

Anders pulled a sovereign from his pocket. "I _know_ where I am," he replied coldly. "I'll pay you an extra sovereign a day for the bathtub and unconditional privacy. No one goes in my room; I'll tell you when I want it cleaned."

The innkeeper's rat-like eyes locked onto the sovereign. "Two extra and I won't even remember you're here."

Anders felt a flicker of anger, but quashed it down. "Fine. But I want my meals brought to my room, left for me outside the door."

The innkeeper nodded and swiftly collected the gold from the countertop. He slid a key toward Anders. "Top of the stairs, last room on the right. Expect yer meals shortly after the sixth, twelfth, and vespers bells."

Anders nodded. "Is there an apothecary nearby?"

The man nodded. "Yeah. Some old lady a few alleys back, she's got a decent shop."

Without another word, Anders left the inn.

Darkness was quickly descending upon the village, the first civilization of any respectable size for miles. Anders was certain it was the village where Celia claimed she'd heard of the rumors of Lorelai's marriage to Sebastian.

He'd retraced the route on which Celia had led them, leaving the ruins behind to smolder once more, the dead rotting within. His rage at her dying words had propelled him along the path, her rasping voice haunting his every step.

He intended to hear those lies for himself, and ensure that whoever was spreading them, ceased.

It was first with annoyance, and then worry, that he'd discovered a 'Wanted' poster with his likeness displayed on an abandoned shack outside of the village. He'd hoped that Celia had exaggerated his new-found fame, but the second glances he'd received upon arriving in the village told him she had not.

He had no intention of allowing some backwater constable to malign his return to Kirkwall. He needed to change his appearance, hence his trip to the apothecary.

Several minutes later, he entered the shop, keeping to himself as he searched out his items.

"Maker, I hope this works," he muttered to himself as he blanched at the strong odor of the oil he needed.

"Find what you're after there, son?" called out the elderly shopkeeper. "I'm looking to close for the night."

Anders turned up the collar of his recently-purchased cloak, attempting to limit her view of his face.

"Yes, although I still need a few items," he replied. "I need some elfroot, about six petals, as well as one black orchid. Oh! And two green lizards."

The woman nodded. "Alive or preserved? The lizards, I mean."

Anders shrugged. "Either should do, I suppose."

"No. If you're after a toxin base you want them preserved."

Anders shook his head. "No, I'm only looking to make a dye, you know, to darken some things."

He shifted and adjusted his cloak; she was staring at him rather intensely, and he felt uneasy. He offered the smile he usually reserved for irate patients. "I don't need to poison anyone," he said with a forced laugh.

"Alive it is, then," she stated, before turning to lumber toward a large wall of small drawers. She organized his order silently, and he quelled his nervous need to chatter.

"There you are," she announced, turning back to him, and holding aloft a small bundle. "That, and the oil you've got there will be thirty-four silver, please."

He rummaged through the pockets within the cloak, seeking out the proper coin.

"You remind me of someone," the shopkeeper observed as he dug in his pockets. "I can't quite place my finger on it, but I feel like I've seen you somewhere."

He felt his heart thud at her words, and resigned to overpaying the woman for her wares. Desperately, he dug out a single sovereign. "Here you are, ma'am. I'm afraid I don't have the exact amount."

She frowned. "I'm sorry, but I can't change that. My son's already collected most of the earnings for today. I did tell you we were closing up," she pointed out with a shake of her silver head.

"Oh, ah, since it was my error in arriving so late in the day, it seems only fair that you keep the balance," he said quickly. He placed the sovereign onto the table between them, and offered her a beaming smile. "Consider it my thanks for helping me with the lizards. You've saved me from poisoning my socks."

The old woman's eyes lit up with appreciation. "Why, thank you! That's very kind, ser!"

Anders bobbed his head in courtesy and turned to go. "Good night, ma'am," he called over his shoulder.

"Yes! Good night, son, and thank you again!" she replied exuberantly. "And I know I'll remember where I've seen you before, it'll come to me next time, I'm certain!"

He grasped at the door handle. "I've just got one of those faces!" he called before escaping the shop. He raced back to the inn, frantic for the sanctuary his room would offer him.

An hour later, his ingredients laid carefully out before him, he used the grate in his fireplace to heat up a small cauldron full of the putrid smelling oil he had purchased. With precision, he then cooked the elfroot, orchid, and finally, dropped several small glands from the necks of the lizards into the mix. Shortly, the oil changed into an opaque and thickened liquid.

Carefully, he drizzled the oil onto a large rag, saturating it evenly. Once certain it was coated, he gingerly lifted the rag and wrapped it around his dry hair, hissing at the intensity of the temperature. In a motion that mimicked drying it, he worked the rag around his head, taking care to avoid his neck, ears, and the skin at his hairline.

He turned to glance at his reflection in the broken mirror hung by his door. He massaged a few spots of his hair again, and, satisfied that the oil was everywhere, tossed the rag down onto the floor.

He rinsed his hands in the ceramic basin, the water turning black. Studying his blond stubble, he determined it wasn't yet long enough for him to apply the oil to, and resolved to purchase a razor in the morning.

Footsteps approached outside of his room, and the light showing under the door was darkened by his arriving food tray. Once the person delivering it had gone, he quickly opened his door and pulled the tray inside, locking the door behind him.

He ate in silence, his mind occupied with future plans.

Justice had begun the war between the mages and the Chantry, and while Anders felt fiercely that the oppression of his comrades must end, his focus should first be Lorelai and the baby's safety. He knew her, and how her mind worked; he needed to demonstrate that his priorities had changed, that without Justice influencing him, Anders could focus on the proper order of things.

Staying clear of the coming battles and the politics of the rift would go far in doing so.

Still, he wondered if Lorelai would be willing to come to Tevinter; he felt strongly that it was the only place both he and their child could evade persecution. If she agreed to travel to Tevinter, not only would they be safer, but he would be able to resume his activities sooner, and continue eliminating the threat of the Chantry once and for all.

The cruel words Celia had spewed slithered through his contented thoughts, and he cursed the doubts she had infected him with. He _knew_ she had been lying, knew that his love would never…and yet her accusations permeated his faith.

"No," he said softly, closing his eyes against the images his fears had created. In his mind's eye, he saw the pious archer reaching for her, saw her soft lips smiling at his touches.

"Stop!" he snarled, and, seeing his wine goblet empty, he pushed his trencher aside as he stood.

Pacing helped calm him – move - he just needed to move, needed to remember _who_ Lorelai was. Celia had lied to thwart him, plain and simple.

Drawing a steadying breath, he felt his anxiety begin to quiet, and his confidence returned.

His panic calmed, he soon remembered the oil smeared through his hair, and turned his attention to the cold water waiting for him in his private bath. The innkeeper had kept his word: the private bathtub had indeed been delivered, and it had been full and waiting for his return. He tested the temperature and sighed; without heating it with magic it would be a miserable washing, but he'd had it worse, and had no wish to draw any possible Templar attention.

With alacrity he bathed, eager to get his body back out of the water. He stepped out, drying himself. Glancing back at the water, which was now grey with the residue he'd washed from his hair, he realized that he would need to tip the servant girl as well – he hoped it would keep her curiosity about the ruined rags and the dark water to herself.

Dry and dressed in clothes purchased earlier that day, Anders checked his reflection again. To his satisfaction, his concoction had worked: a dark haired, well-dressed man stared back at him. With any luck, he would be able to grow his whiskers out after he left this town, and dye them to match.

Looking more nobleman than mage, Anders tidied his room, and, gathering his key and a small dirk, set out, determined to make sure the rumors about Lorelai ended.

**xXx**

_**I would like to offer my genuine apology for allowing this, as well as my other story, Redemption, to fall so horribly behind. Things have been...'eventful' and time continued to march on without me. I'm learning to keep the uglier events – which, I'll be honest, slapped my muse around quite a lot – locked up tight, and with a lot of encouragement from Lisa, as well as your kind PM's and reviews, I do believe I'm back in the saddle. Here's hoping it doesn't chafe. **_

_**Thank you to Lisa. I could get all emotional, but...nah. COCK!**_


	20. The Road to Hell

**The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions**

Marie closed the door to her marital suite, her eyes on her enraged husband. Quietly, she went to the middle of the large room and watched his furious pacing.

He had blood down the front of his loose shirt; Sebastian had clearly gotten in at least one good punch. His large hands were clenched into fists by his sides, but the intensity of his emotion was far beyond anger: he was seething with fury.

Struggling for control, she swallowed the panic she felt. Cameron was near purple with anger; she'd never seen him in such a state, and whatever was happening, was bad, very bad. "Was that because of something the courier told you? What did you learn?" she asked, her voice strong.

His pacing did not slow, but his flashing eyes met hers, and he pointed behind her toward the door. "Tha' _woman_ has an enormous contract on her life!" he barked. "And tha' man, who I trusted, has known abou' it since perhaps it was ordered!"

Marie's heart began to thud inside her chest. "But why? And what kind of contract?" she stammered.

"Why?" he repeated in a yell. "Why, ye ask? Because _she_ and tha' monster, tha' mage who _murdered_ the Grand Cleric, the one who blew up half o' Kirkwall, were lovers! She used her position to keep him out of the Templars' hands!"

"What? Lovers?" she repeated. "Is that why you called her _that_? No. That can't be right, Cam, Sebastian would never consort with her, if that were true!" she scoffed. "No. He loved Elthina, and he loves the Maker; why would he have been friends with someone who harbored…"

"A possessed mage?" he bellowed.

Marie snorted in disbelief. "Possessed? Wouldn't that make him an abomination? Cam, that really doesn't sound right, it…"

"Aye! That's what they're sayin', in Kirkwall!" he argued, cutting her off. "Apparently, it was common knowledge; the mage _lived_ with her in her _mansion_ in Hightown, and they carried on together for years!"

She shook her head, a sense of dread spreading through her. "And this contract?" she stammered. "You said it was on her life? What does that mean? Bounty hunters?"

He laughed coldly. "Bounty hunters? Ha!"

Finally, his angry pacing ceased; he came to stand in front of her, and she craned her neck to look up into his eyes. "What does it mean, Cam?" she repeated.

"It means tha' _assassins_ may be stalkin' the woman who sleeps down the hall from _and_ plays wi' our daughters, Marie, not bounty hunters," he said venomously. "It means my closest pal, a man I trusted, a man that if I was _dyin_,' I would ha' _begged_ to look after ye and ma lasses, is a _liar_!" he finished loudly.

Marie, her hands over her mouth, stared up at him, and her horror doubled as she saw her strong husband's nostrils flare and heard his shuddering breath; he was devastated, and she knew it.

"He's a liar, Marie," he rasped, emotion heavy in each word. "He's made a fool of me, and he's brought danger into ma home; near _ma bairns_."

She felt confused, her mind not willing to adopt the disgust that her heart was feeling. "Lorelai, she's been so wonderful to them," she reasoned. "How could she let…why would she…I don't understand!"

"I don't know," he answered.

Marie felt her chin begin to quiver. "But, they knew? They've known this _whole_ time? What about when we were on the river? We had no guards on the river, Cam!" A hot tear slipped down her cheek, and Cam dashed it away. "How could they?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, Marie," he replied sadly. "Apparently, I don't know him anymore."

She wrapped her arms around her husband's trim waist and held him, her hurt and sense of betrayal growing with the pain in his tone. They took solace in one another for a few quiet minutes before she looked up at him, and gently touched his swollen lip.

"Let's clean that up, Cam," she said, stifling her upset. Taking his hand, she led him over to one of the chairs by the fireplace, and, easing him down into it, gently kissed his temple. "I'll be back."

She wanted to allow her husband some privacy, knowing he needed to gather his thoughts. She left their room, pausing to request the warm water she would need to care for her husband, and then departed briefly to give her morning orders to the maid who would soon rouse their daughters. When she returned to their room, she found Cam standing at a sideboard, washing his cut lip.

He had tossed his bloodied shirt aside, and she stood quietly behind him as he wrung out a rag. Stepping in, she smiled gently, and took the rag from his hand. "Come now, sit down," she ordered gently.

He shook his head. "I can do it."

She kissed his bare arm, reaching around him to pick up the basin. "I know, but I want to, all right? Go sit."

She carried the small basin and followed him to the chair. He sat down and she moved between his thighs, his great height allowing her the luxury of not leaning over; though her pregnant belly pushed against his chest. She felt his warm hands caress their child.

"How is she?" he asked softly, referring to the baby, as she began to dab at his lip.

"_He's_ fine," she replied with a grin. "I think this shouldn't bruise too badly," she muttered, looking carefully at his wounded lip.

"Tha's because he's only a wee lil' coward o' a man," he grunted, referring to Sebastian. He frowned. "It's a girl, Marie, no' a boy," he argued, returning to his earlier comment.

"It is so, and just how would you know?" she countered, carefully finishing up her tender ministrations. His mention of Sebastian, however, made her smile flounder, and she met his eyes, sighing. "Cam, what do you want to do?"

He frowned and he took her hand. "They're leavin'."

She nodded. "I agree," she replied. "But what do you want to do? What else did you learn?"

He looked at her, his eyes hard. "I _want_ to finish beatin' him, but I'm guessin' you willnae be allowin' that."

"I might," she commented. "Actually, I may help you."

He grunted, pulling her into his lap. "Anythin' could have happened, Marie, anythin'," he said, and she nodded. "What did I learn, ye ask? That there are many rumors about her, horrible ones, and they're bloody everywhere. And not all are about just her; there are many tales of the mage, of their relationship. I barely know where to start when I consider it all."

"Cameron, why did you have a man in Kirkwall? What were you looking for?"

He shook. "It's no' like that, I wasn't checkin' up on Seb. I had a man make the rounds, ye know, to make sure the rumors linking Lorelai to the murder and such were dyin' down," he explained.

"I know that, darling, I wasn't accusing you of wrongdoing," she replied. "I'm just trying to sort this all out."

"Seb's about to take his bloody throne, and there's some tha' aren't happy abou' it; he asked for my help," he continued. "I was afraid someone here would use somethin' to do with Kirkwall to start trouble; I wanted to know more o' what had happened, so I could handle it," he snorted. "So I could _defend_ her."

"Are you certain your report was right?"

He shrugged in defeat. "I didn't want to believe it, but ye saw he didn't deny tha' he knew o' the contract," he said sadly. "Maybe some of the other rumors are off, I don't know, but I cannae see how any of it matters now. I want them gone; I want 'em away from ye and the lasses."

"I know," she answered, and cupped his cheek. "I'm so sorry, Cam."

**xXx**

"Gather your things, Lorelai," Sebastian ordered as he wiped his battered face with his shirt. She was standing at his side, pulling a clean shift over her head.

"Seb," she began. "You have to talk to him."

"Talk to him?" he repeated, shaking his head. "He barged in here, called you a wh…that _name_, and you want me to _talk_ to him?"

"Cameron is your best friend, and he's angry, he didn't mean what he said," she reasoned. "He's just…"

Sebastian threw the shirt down onto the floor, the cuts from Cameron's blows already a swollen purple. "Get dressed, and get your things, Lorelai," he ordered again, each word enunciated clearly.

She shook her head. "I'll get dressed, but we're not leaving, not yet. You have to talk to…"

He turned to face her, and she watched the veins bulge in his neck. "No!" he shouted in her face, and then, his eyes locked with hers, he swiftly walked across the room, to their wardrobe.

She knew he was barely clinging to control of his temper. "Sebastian," she whispered.

He ignored her, pulling at the handles of the large wardrobe so forcefully that the doors slapped against its exterior. He began to empty it, and carried items to their bed, dumping them onto it before returning for more.

She watched him work for a few moments before speaking again. "Sebastian."

He didn't answer her, but continued sorting their belongings, pausing to pull a fresh doublet on. He laced it shut before he looked at her. "Get dressed."

"Yes, we mustn't be late," she stated and took up one of the gowns he'd put on the bed.

His jaw worked, and his eyes flashed. "Lorelai," he growled.

She crossed her arms. "You can't leave it like this," she stated. "You can't. He's your best friend, you _need_ him."

"He's a childish little boy who doesn't know his arse from his elbow! Did you not _hear_ what he called you?"

"Yes, I did," she replied calmly. "But, I've been called worse," she reminded him and drew a deep breath. "We were wrong not to tell them."

"Wrong?" he barked. "Wrong?"

She didn't flinch. "Yes. He should have known; we've asked so much of them…"

"I have no' asked tha' man for a _thing_!" he countered, his accent flourishing with his outrage. "He came tae us, Lorelai! He offered tae help!"

"Yes, of course he did, that's what friends do for one another! We're here, in his _home_, and under his _protection_, because he thought all you wanted was to return home!" she argued. "And neither of us has done anything to tell them otherwise."

He shook his head, his hands clenched into fists. "Wha' should I ha' told him, then? I'm no liar! Which carefully chosen words would you have liked me to use, Lorelai?" he demanded. "No one was tae know, and I have tae protect ye!"

"And he has to protect his three daughters, his pregnant wife, and a house full of people," she said quietly.

In an instant, the anger went from his features, and she knew her words had penetrated his extraordinary rage. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Blast it," he muttered before he opened his eyes.

"Once they know more about the contract, about why we left, they'll understand, Seb. Things will be fine."

A quick knock was heard at their door, and Sebastian opened it. She saw him give a quick nod, and then the door opened more widely, as several maids entered their suite. Lorelai stood in shocked silence as the staff began to pack their clothing.

Sebastian looked at her, still standing by the door, deep regret showing in his eyes. "I doubt that, Darlin'," he replied. "I doubt that very much."

**xXx**

Fenris spent the rest of the day wandering around the village.

He had spent another hour with Captain Jenkins, after their breakfast had been completed, the man asking a multitude of questions about Kirkwall. It seemed that the rumors of what had transpired before and after the chantry had been destroyed, had grown beyond control, and Fenris did his best to provide more accurate information.

The most important rumor he quashed was that of Lorelai's complacency regarding the abomination's actions.

It had been a disconcerting experience, listening to the recounting of the events from an outsider's perspective. It seemed that not just the captain, but most of the Free Marches were speaking of himself and his friends. The more outlandish tales were easy to discount, but some - especially the ones that spoke ill of his closer companions - were hard to ignore.

As the day had drawn to its close, he elected to take his dinner at his inn, choosing to decline Captain Jenkins' gracious invitation to join him again. He'd cited a need to pen a report to Aveline, a lame excuse, he knew, but he had no stomach for answering any more questions.

The inn would be a significant expenditure, one he had not counted on, but he did not feel that one who held the position he claimed to within the Kirkwall Guard, would simply step outside the village walls and kip a tent.

So, he accepted the additional strain on his coin purse, hoping that it was a reasonable precaution against discovery, and now ate a bland meal in the main room.

With mild interest, he watched the innkeeper struggle to haul a sitting tub up the stairs. It had been explained to Fenris when he signed in, that there was a bathing room, and he was welcome to make use of it. He wondered what esteemed personage warranted their own private bath, and chuckled at the colorful string of curse words the innkeeper was using to get it to them.

Dusk was falling rapidly over the village, and, as a result, the main room was beginning to grow crowded. A group of workmen arrived, their moods high, and the seating was soon full.

Quietly, Fenris observed the people around him, recalling many of the faces from his early-day walk through the village center. The volume of the crowd grew, and he decided to end his evening early.

Moving up the stairs, he reached the upper hall, yielding briefly to a maid who was hurrying past, burdened with two heavy buckets of water.

"Sorry, ser," she muttered as she passed, offering an apologetic smile. Fenris bobbed his head and pressed his back to the wall.

He watched as she went to the last door on the right, and he craned his neck to see her pass the buckets one at a time to the innkeeper who was in the guest room.

"Ser," the maid said, now speaking to the innkeeper. "Are you sure you don't want me to warm the water no more than this?"

"No!" the man replied, his face still flushed from his earlier battle with the tub he was now pouring water into. "If the bastard's too good to bathe with the rest of us, then he can do it in cold water. Arsehole! Do you have any idea how heavy this damned thing is?"

Laughing quietly to himself, Fenris entered his own room, wondering at what whoever would be taking that bath, would have to say of the innkeeper's decision.

**xXx**

Varric sat under one of the banners outside of the Blooming Rose, inspecting his newest doeskin gloves. They were supple and fit his thick fingers perfectly; better than this, though, was the tender way they caressed Bianca's hilt.

It was getting late in the day, and the lamplighters in the 'red-light' district approached the courtyard to begin their work. He watched as the pair of men worked together, one holding his long pole as the other dipped and worked the wick at the end, bringing the flame to life, and then chuckled to himself, enjoying to irony of poles being worked in _and_ out of the Rose.

"Explain again to me, why if you already come all the way up here," began a familiar voice, "that you insist on meeting me _here_?"

Varric pushed himself to his feet, and adjusted his luxurious gloves. With a smile, and an elegant bow, he replied to Aveline.

"Aveline, I couldn't risk my reputation, being seen in a place like the Guard's headquarters," he explained. "Not to mention, I owe Donnic a few silver."

Aveline crossed her arms over her armored chest. "As if this location betters _my_ reputation?" she challenged. "And as to the coin, Donnic asked me to remind you of it, and, for the record, it's more than a _few_ silver."

Varric chuckled and the friends left the courtyard, and began to stroll through the west side of Hightown. "So, I've learned a few things that I thought I would share with you, since you've had your hands more than a little full lately."

She frowned. In the last week, more than a fifty additional Templars had arrived in Kirkwall. The Gallows fairly sparkled in the harbor, the heavy armor-clad representatives of Chantry's might now numbering so many.

"If you're having problems with a Templar, figure it out for yourself," she snapped and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Varric, that was uncalled for," she said. "I'm just worn out, to be honest, and I'm sick of these Chantry people telling me how to run my city! Unless the Divine intends to take the City-State for her own, she's truly overstepping her bounds. There are over two hundred Templars in Kirkwall now!"

"Yes, and that's what I wanted to see you about; they aren't all _just_ Templars."

She looked confused and stopped, forcing Varric to stop with her. "What does that bloody mean?" she demanded.

Varric's features were placid as he nodded hello to a passerby, eager not to draw more attention than necessary. "I'm seeing lots of those Templars in the Hanged Man," he began, his voice low. "Apparently, some very interesting people arrived with this more recent influx of personnel. There are Seekers this time too."

"What? Seekers? What's a Seeker?"

Varric gestured for her to follow, and he walked briskly across the walkway, entering an alleyway. He went back several feet, and once stopped, he looked around carefully before he spoke again.

"They're a different level of the Order," he explained. "I haven't been able to learn a whole lot, except the Templars don't like 'em or trust 'em. What I've been able to piece together," he continued, "is their main job is investigating threats that come from _within_ the Chantry."

"Within?" she repeated. "Alright, but why would they be here? Anders is the reason for all this, and he's a mage, not a Templar."

"Sure, but that doesn't change the fact that Meredith went all, "stabbity, stabbity, kill, kill," on them," he argued. "And it doesn't change Knight-Captain Cullen's attempt to force her to step down. Not to mention, that while what Anders did was _completely_ insane, there's more than a few horror stories about everyone's favorite Knight-Commander."

Aveline looked thoughtful for a few moments. "So the rumors are the Chantry is sending these Seekers to look into Meredith? She had a possessed idol turned into a sword and went mad; dozens of their own witnessed her lunacy, and nearly that many survived to account for the events."

Varric nodded. "My thoughts exactly. So…"

"So why are they really here? What are they after?"

Varric smiled. "I love your mind, Aveline. I found myself wondering the exact same thing."

"Ah," she replied. "And where did your wonderings lead you to?"

"Blondie."

She arched a red eyebrow and tapped her chin with her finger. "That's a real possibility, Varric; have you seen the wanted posters that they've smattered all over?"

"Not a bad likeness, I thought, though Merrill thinks they've got his nose all wrong."

"She would," Aveline chuckled. "Is she doing all right? I haven't seen her since we discovered the man asking after Sebastian was working with Sebastian's friend."

"Merrill's fine, she's just keeping indoors, is all. Too many Templars for even the most flighty of blood mages," he said. "Speaking of Starkhaven, I'm still working that angle, just so you know."

"Which one? The man from Starkhaven?"

He nodded. "Yup. I know we were able to verify that fellow Hugo was working for Avery, at least, in a roundabout sort of way," he explained. "But that whole thing still doesn't sit right with me."

"Why not?"

"Because between Merrill's recollection and the things we learned from the merchants we talked with," he paused to lean against the wall before he continued, "we're still a man short."

Aveline shook her head. "I thought we'd decided that the man with the black hair was the same one named Hugo."

"Well, we did, and then I changed my mind," he confessed. "I just don't like the two different descriptions we got on him."

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Varric," she sighed. "Only one woman gave an account that didn't agree," she argued.

"Yes. But, if you'll recall, she _really_ disagreed with the description you gave her," he reminded her. "I thought she was going to argue with us about it all day. That kind of certainty…I don't know, I'm just not ready to settle the matter entirely yet."

"Wasn't she a bit tipsy? Perhaps that would account for her memory being off."

"May be she was," he began, and then shrugged. "But then again, maybe she wasn't."

"Fine, Varric, waste your time chasing after shadows."

"I will," he chuckled.

With a grunt, she turned to go, but stopped before she left the alley. Looking up, Varric could she was chewing her lip in thought.

"Yes?" he called to her, knowing she was working out something in her mind.

She walked back to stand next to him once more. "Varric, is that _all_ Seekers do? They investigate internal matters?"

"Nobody's been too chatty with details, except to say that a Seeker, by default, isn't very well liked. I suppose they're hunting Blondie, just the Chantry bringing out the big guns to do it. Why?"

"Yes, but what if…"she began and then stopped. "Huh," she muttered and turned again to leave.

"Aveline!" Varric barked, hot on her heels. "No way are you getting away with just a 'huh'! I've seen that look on your face before, so spill it. What's going on under that red hair of yours?"

She frowned. "What if…" and again she chewed her lip, "All right, what if they're not just looking into Meredith, or for Anders. Let's not forget, what happened at the Gallows was only half of the tragedy that day."

Varric shrugged. "So you're thinking they're here looking into what happened _at_ the chantry? I don't get it, everyone knows who did _that_. Blondie confessed quite publicly, you'll recall."

"That's a true statement," she agreed. "But just _how_ did he do it? How _did_ a known apostate manage to plant enough of his concoction inside of one of the most heavily Templar patrolled buildings in all of Kirkwall?"

"Good question."

"I know," she muttered.

Neither spoke, their intelligent minds mulling over thoughts neither was prepared to share yet. Finally, Aveline turned to leave the alley, Varric walking quietly at her side. When they reached its entrance, they stopped.

"I'll get a few Templars drunk and sexed up. One of them knows what's going on," Varric said.

"And I'll get a second interview done with that merchant, just in case your hunch is right," Aveline replied.

"Good, thanks," Varric answered.

"Tell Merrill I said hello?"

"Sure thing, and tell Donnic I'll catch him next time. See you in a few days?"

Aveline nodded, and the human and the dwarf parted ways.

**xXx**

Sebastian stood under a clear and starry sky, his forearms resting against the stone railing of the balcony off his apartments. They'd left the Avery home without having seen or spoken with Cameron, and his soul felt deeply troubled by this.

The only location they could move to, and have any hope of saving political face in the morning's disaster, was the Royal Palace. It would have been a serious blow to Sebastian's hopes for a smooth ascension if word got out that he and Cameron had suffered a falling out.

Cameron had been a good enough friend to have sent word ahead of them, and had done it in a way that offered no hint of the intense discord between them.

Goren Vael had never occupied the set of private apartments intended for the ruling prince and his family; instead he had simply remained in the same smaller set in which he already resided. Lorelai soon pointed out that this was beneficial in two ways. One, their taking of the apartments looked a great deal more deliberate, and two, there would be no nude paintings or orange bunting to remove.

Sebastian had lived his entire childhood in these vast apartments; returning to them with a family of his own, to take his rightful place should have been a joyous feeling.

The weight in his chest felt otherwise.

The view down into the private gardens below was a familiar one, and he watched the single guard below moving quietly through it. His mind recalled playing in the lushness below, one of the few occasions he and his elder brother were allowed to behave as the children they'd been.

He wondered briefly what his brother had felt, when he had been the Prince, their parents gone, and he had taken this view.

"When will you go see him?" asked Lorelai from behind him, before he felt her arms slip around his waist. Her heart winced when he stiffened.

"When I think Cam's ready," he answered, not looking down at her when he spoke.

She hugged him closer. "I'm so sorry, Sebastian," she whispered.

"As am I," he confessed, but his gaze remained on the foliage below. "What do you think of our home, of your bedroom, Darlin'?" he asked, clearly eager to change the subject.

"I admit, this viper pit of yours is remarkably well appointed," she teased, trying to coax a smile from him. She sighed, seeing she'd failed. "But will it be completely uncouth and shocking if I never move into the Princess's rooms? Is the court going to talk if I keep only to the Prince's rooms?"

"Probably, though I expect it will be one of lesser scandalous things we are gossiped about," he replied casually, but she heard deep worry in his voice. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, still keeping his gaze from hers. "Lorelai, you do remember what else we spoke of in Wycome, don't you? It's just us, now."

The moonlight framed his handsome face, and she reached out to stroke his tan cheek. "I love you," she whispered, and his blue eyes finally met her green ones. "I love you, Sebastian, and I _promise_ you, 'just us', is going to be enough. I _swear_ it," she vowed through trembling lips.

He stared down at her for several loud heartbeats before he slowly nodded. He held her tight, and a shudder ran through him. "Aye, Darlin' it will be," he whispered in return, his voice cracking. "It will be."

_**Thank you ya'll, seriously. I can't tell you how grateful I am for everyone's generous reviews and PM's. I am really, really glad to be back.**_


	21. So, This Dwarf Walks Out of a Bar

**So, This Dwarf Walks Out of a Bar...**

Varric sat forward in his favorite chair, his eyes narrowed with focus. It was late, well after midnight, but the Hanged Man still bustled with activity. It was pay day for the Templars, and the mood in the tavern was high. Chants encouraging a rather raucous drinking game could clearly be heard in the background.

The irony of the night, was not lost on the rogue. Normally, he would lap up the fact that the pious bunch somehow managed for their vows to loosen up – and for some, disappear altogether – when coin was in their purse.

Normally, he'd be mingling amongst them, egging on their debauchery while he milked the naive fools for information. Normally.

The night, however, had taken an abrupt turn from 'normal' when Walter had tugged at his coat sleeve and whispered dark news in his ear.

"So this man, he's the one from Starkhaven? You're certain? Absolutely sure?" Varric queried, his tone hard.

"Yes, Varric, ser," the young man nodded vigorously. "He's here on orders, and from what I can tell, he's working against Hawke and the Prince. I was at the outpost when he came in."

Varric shoved back from the table and began to pace. "Tell me again, Walter, and don't leave anything out."

Walter swallowed once and cleared his throat. "I was taking paperwork to the Coterie offices in Lowtown, reports and such from their informants in Darktown, nothing of any import, I made a point to check, like you told me to," he began.

"Good, that's good. Then what?"

"Uh, so anyway, I tucked myself into one of the alcoves in the corridors outside of the office so I could go through the satchel," Walter resumed. "That's when I heard 'im, the fellow from Starkhaven you were looking for. The accent was a dead giveaway."

"And he said…" Varric encouraged.

"He asked the head man there, Oslo, if they'd had any new information on where the Champion was. At least, that's what I got it, he speaks funny. That's when Oslo took him into the back room."

"What then, Walter?" the dwarf demanded, anxiety creeping up his spine. "What happened after that?"

"I tried, Varric, I swear I did, but I couldn't get close enough to hear all of what was said," Walter said apologetically. "I heard some snatches, but didn't get the whole conversation. I'm sorry."

The rogue cursed softly. "Okay, kid, I know you did your best," Varric replied. "But tell me what you _did_ hear, and then explain how they parted ways. Did the fellow from Starkhaven stay long? Did he leave with that man Oslo?"

"No, he stayed in the office with Oslo for about ten minutes, but I did clearly hear Hawke's name, and I _know_ I heard him mention a Tisdale, and the name of the captain, the one who took Hawke out of here? Uh, Foster, that's the name!" Walter said in a rush. "Oslo left the office first, and he took off in a tear. I almost followed him."

"Almost?"

"I thought, well, 'what would Varric do'? So I stayed tight, and when the foreigner finally left, I followed him instead."

Varric stopped pacing and turned slowly back to face Walter, a grin spreading across his features. "Walter, my boy, please, oh please, tell me you know where the bastard is staying."

Walter returned the smile. "Whitman's Inn, room seven."

Varric clapped his hands together and a bark of laughter escaped him. "Walter, consider yourself promoted!" he announced with glee. Quickly, he scratched out a note and folded it, turning to Walter and holding it out. "Take this to David in the east warehouse, and then wait for me back here; we'll talk about your new duties and who will report to you then. And here," the dwarf paused, pulling five sovereigns from his lockbox, passing the gold to an astonished Walter. "Damned fine job, Walter."

"Wow! Varric, thank you!"

"No, kid, _thank you_! You just saved the day!" he clapped Walter on the arm and grabbed Bianca. Leaving the young man still gaping at the gold in his hand, Varric left for Hightown.

**xXx**

Anders sat in the middle of the tap room, his mug of ale still half full. The barmaid had been by a few times, and he knew she was ready for him to either drink up or move on. He'd been there for nearly an hour, trying to eavesdrop on the conversations around him, but as of yet he'd heard very little information that was relevant to him.

"Oy, mister, you really need to help me out here," said a feminine voice from over him. He looked up and saw that the barmaid had again returned a frown on her face. "I don't mean to be rude, but you're costing me good coin. Please, either order another drink, or let the table get filled by some others, alright?"

"Sorry," Anders replied. "I was just hoping to catch some news of back home, that's all. I didn't mean to take up your table."

"News? That's why you're lingering so? I can help you with that. Where you from?"

"Kirkwall," he replied. "It's been years since I lived there, but it sounds like things are getting bad."

The barmaid snorted. "Yeah, I'd say a blown up chantry, a murdered Grand Cleric and half the Templars in Thedas occupying the place is 'bad'," she said with a frown. "That place is going to the Void in a hand basket. My mum's living there; I just sent her a letter, asking her to come here, where it's safe."

"So things have worsened?"

"What's the last you'd heard?" she asked, placing her tray on his table top.

"I'd heard about the chantry."

"Yeah, a mite bit more has happened since _then_," she answered, shaking her head. "Where've you been? Under a rock?" She tapped a finger against her lips. "Let's see. Well, the rumors _had_ been the Champion had killed the mage who'd murdered the Grand Cleric and all them poor souls in the chantry," she began. "'Course, now we all know _that's_ not true, because there's posters for that blighter all over. Obviously, he ain't dead."

Anders nodded and took a sip of his ale.

"Turns out, the Champion was _protecting_ the monster! Apparently, more than that, word is she helped him do it! So now, most folks are saying the Divine will move against the city any day," she continued. "I can believe that, just lookin' at the number of Templars that have been coming through here. When you ask them, they're all headed to Kirkwall."

"The Champion is a good woman, or so I'd always heard," Anders defended, but the last of the woman's words distracted him from his defense of Lorelai. "Templars? The Chantry is moving them? But I thought they were for mages? Didn't the mages there flee?"

"Well, of course they're for the mages, ser. But from what I hear, mages there are running loose, the ones that didn't leave, that is, and we all know they've got vengeance on their minds! And now, a 'hero' to rally behind, since that mage didn't die," she said. "And they've got no Viscount running things, you know. Kirkwall is in chaos."

"Can you blame them? Can you really blame the mages?" he snapped, and then, realizing his tone had startled her, tried to recover from his harsh rebuttal. "What I mean to say is, if the things I've heard about how those Circles are run are true, maybe we'd be upset too, if we'd lived that way."

"Anna! Can I get another?" asked a woman at an adjacent table, holding up her mug.

"Uh huh, sure thing," Anna replied and then turned back to Anders. "That can't justify what they've done in Kirkwall, no matter _what's_ true about those Circles. He pitched the whole city into ruin, the bastard. Sorry, one second," she said and turned to yell the woman's order to the barkeep. "Anyway, as I was sayin'. It's madness, attacking the Chantry like that lunatic did. I ask you, how did he think he was _helpin'_ his kind? Every mage in the Marches is under watch now, and I for one say we should lock all of them up!"

Anders swallowed down his anger and drew a breath. He wanted to ask her more about Lorelai, but he needed to control his temper. "So," he began with a strained tone. "I'd heard the Champion wasn't involved, thought this mage had done it alone? If the rumors are she helped him, then what happened to her? Was she arrested?"

"Nope! She's wiggled out of justice, it seems," she answered. "Amazing that, 'cause the way I hear it, she was his _lover_ and he had her help him. She planted the bombs herself, from what people are saying. And then, of all things, she's run off!"

His head snapped up, his heart hammering inside his chest. "Run off? The Champion left the city?"

"Indeed. Apparently, she was also carrying on an affair with some lay brother, and that brother turned out to be a Vael!" she shared eagerly. "Now she's gone and married the man, taken his name!"

"It wasn't just _any_ Vael, Anna," said another barmaid who was placing a drink in front of a customer at the table beside Anders's. "It was _the_ Vael, as in the real Prince of Starkhaven. You know the last survivor of that poor murdered family? I heard he's gone back to Starkhaven and is going to take his throne. She's going to be the bloody Princess of Starkhaven!"

The man who was taking his drink from the barmaid barked out a harsh laugh. "Now isn't that a pisser? She kills the Grand Cleric, starts a bloody war, and makes off, scot free, with a crown and an army to boot!"

"She'll need the army, when the Divine comes for her!"Anna replied and then frowned slightly. "Wait, then which Vael is running Starkhaven now?"

"Some cousin that everyone hates," the other barmaid replied. "Can you imagine though? I mean, what a life! She's got how many lovers, blows up half a city, and _still_ marries a damned prince! Maker, I wish the woman would teach a class!"

The barmaids laughed together.

"Bet she sucks a good cock!" offered the man, who then raised his mug high. "Maker knows, a man would do a great deal for that."

"Watch your mouth, Jarred! This is a family place!" Anna scolded with a laugh. "Though you know what I just remembered, I was told in market this morning? That the mage was a _blood_ _mage_!"

"Oh! Aren't they supposed to be able to make you do things? Like, oh, what do they call it? Mind control?" the other barmaid speculated excitedly. "Maker, think on that!"

The trio carried on their conversation above his head, none noticing that Anders was gripping the sides of the shabby table. Blood rushed in his ears, the din of his anger nearly deafening. He didn't hear their continued speculation, only felt the fury of betrayal. "She was _not_ lovers with Vael! They're _not_ lovers!" he snarled, his tone rendering the others silent. He looked up at the women. "Do you hear me?"

The barmaids gaped and Anders got to his feet, shoving roughly past them.

"Hey! Arsehole!" grumped the other barmaid as she righted herself. "What's wrong with him?"

Anna watched Anders move away from them. "Wait! You owe me six copper!" she cried out, realizing he was leaving. "Bugger it all!" she cursed and began to work her way through the crowd, hoping to catch up with the stranger. She saw a glimpse of her customer as he reached the front door and she hurried outside after him. "Wait! Thief!"

As she exited the building, she skidded to a halt, and looked up and down the dark street. The stranger was gone, but a guardsman was just coming around the corner. "Hey there!" she cried out, drawing his attention. "I just had someone leave without payin'!"

The guardsman hurried over to her. "What happened? Describe him!"

And she did.

**xXx**

Merrill paced Varric's room in the back of the Hanged Man, her nerves making her jump with each loud laugh from the front. She'd been there since the noon meal, Norah having shared with her that the dwarf had gone to investigate something, and should be back soon. The afternoon lull had set in, and Merrill bit her lip nervously.

"Norah?" the elf asked quietly after she had walked to the bar. "When did Varric leave, exactly?"

Norah paused and looked thoughtful. "Oh, well, I guess it was about midnight. Why?"

"What time is it now?"

Norah glanced up at the highest window, its pane held open by a rotting plank of wood. "Looks like it's about four to me."

"Oh my, isn't that a bit long? For Varric to not have been here?" Merrill pondered. "Doesn't he normally meet with people this time of the day?"

Norah frowned. "Actually, now that you mention it, yes, he does. Hey, Jimmy?" she called out, turning her gaze to the burly man at the far end of the bar. "Did you see Varric this morning?"

Jimmy, one of Varric's more trusted smugglers, shook his head as he pushed his food around his trencher with a crust of bread. "Nah. David came by, said he had a note from the boss, so I did my inventory with him, instead."

Norah turned back to Merrill. "Well, there you go then. Varric must have planned to be out, if he sent word to David. I'm sure he's fine."

"David, from the warehouse, yes?" Merrill asked, and Norah nodded. Merrill sighed, still unsettled. "Well, alright, if you think things are fine. I'll just go wait, then. May I have a bowl of stew?"

"Sure, I'll even get it from the fresh pot," Norah replied with a grin as she walked past to the kitchen. A moment later, the barmaid returned, a steaming bowl of lamb stew in her hand. "Here, I even managed to get you a fresh loaf of bread to go with it!"

"Oh, thank you, Norah. You're so kind," Merrill said quietly, taking the bowl from her. "I'll just go, uh, well, I'll go back up, then."

Norah looked at the elf with concern. "Merrill, you shouldn't worry so. Varric's a big boy, he can look after himself."

Merrill nodded sheepishly. "Yes, of course. Thanks."

**xXx**

Marie entered her husband's office and waited quietly as Cameron finished his conversation with one of his secretaries. Cameron noticed Marie and politely dismissed the man, who silently left the room.

"Hello," Cameron said, smiling at his swollen bride. "What brings ye here in the middle of your day? I thought ye an' the girls were having tea?"

Marie smiled. "Yes, we were, but I'm now incapable of sitting on those tiny chairs in the nursery, so Hannah was gracious enough to excuse me," she explained as she walked to him.

He reached for her and she joined him behind his desk, leaning against the gleaming wood. He rubbed her belly before he looked up at her. "Tha' was gracious o' her," he chuckled. "Are ye feeling well?"

Marie nodded and ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed and relaxed against her middle. "Cam, did you accept the invitation?"

Her husband frowned and sat back into his chair. "No."

She nodded. "We should go, you know this."

His handsome features grew tight in annoyance. "We've been ove' this, Marie. I've nae desire to see _them_, let alone attend some trite soiree where we'll be forced t' pretend I dinnae wish to pound Seb flat!"

"Darling, we can't avoid this. Regardless of how things stand between us and the Vaels, you cannot ignore your social obligations. Politics demands it."

Cameron didn't answer, but instead picked up a ledger book, and studied it intently.

"Cam," she whispered, but his head snapped up.

"_Drop it_, Marie, I mean it. This is a closed matter," he said sternly. "We will _no'_ be attending and I will _no'_ change my mind on this."

Annoyance bubbled inside her, but she knew her dear husband well enough to recognize that she wouldn't be getting anywhere with her logical argument. Sighing, she nodded and pushed off the desk. "I shall see you for dinner?"

He studied his ledger and did not look up. "Aye."

"Alright. I'll see you then," she said softly and left the room.

Cameron glared at the door, tossing the ledger onto the desktop with a huff. The leather slapped smartly against the wood, and the loose papers surrounding it fluttered, drawing his eyes down to the gilt invitation to the Palace. He snatched it up and crumpled it into a tight ball, his anger at the Prince still bitter bile in his gut.

Again he replayed the fight between him and Sebastian, and he stood to throw the balled invitation across the room. "Damn you, Seb!" he yelled. He sat down hard, his head in his hands. "Damn you."

**xXx**

Fenris sat with Captain Jenkins in the man's office, leafing through the previous evening's reports. He'd spent the day walking the town, quietly gathering what information he could about the direction of his prey. As of yet, he'd found nothing to confirm his feeling that Anders had been in the remote locale, but his instincts were something that Fenris had long ago learned to heed.

Patience was his ally, diligence his friend. Vengeance would be his reward.

"Is this all of the reports, Captain?"

Jenkins glanced up from his desk. "Yes, should be. I read through them already, and it seems it was a slow night. Except for some fella leaving his tab unpaid at the Broken Back, not a lot went on."

Fenris frowned. "It would appear so. I read that report; the perpetrator does not match the description of Anders."

"Did you finish speaking with the merchants?"

Fenris shook his head. "Not yet."

"Where'd you leave off?"

"I believe there are four remaining," the elf answered, glancing at the list Jenkins had given him that morning. "A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, and a shop listed as 'Millie's'," he replied.

Jenkins arched an eyebrow. "Huh, I'd have thought you'd have made a point to get to Millie's."

"Why would I have done so?"

"Seeing as how that's the local apothecary; if your mage needed supplies, he'd have to go there," the captain explained, turning his back to Fenris to tuck away his finished paperwork. He continued, speaking over his shoulder. "There isn't another option in town," he finished, moving back again to face the warrior, his words lost as his eyes focused on the now empty chair that Fenris had been in. The older man shook his head. "Guess I'll see you later, Fenris."

Five minutes later, Fenris was tugging on the handle of the apothecary's door, admitting himself to the small store. He walked silently to the front of the store, and, seeing that no one was present, carefully rang the small bell.

"Coming! Coming!" called a female's voice from a beyond a curtain that hung over a doorway to the side. An elderly woman appeared, a bright smile upon her face. "Hello! What can I do for you?"

Fenris bowed his head respectfully. "Good evening madam. I am Fenris of the Kirkwall Guard, and I am here on the behest of its captain, Aveline Vallen."

The woman's smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. "I've heard her name, a time or two. What brings you to my little shop?"

He cleared his throat. "I am pursuing the rogue mage who committed the heinous crimes against the Chantry and the people of Kirkwall. My pursuit has led me to this lovely village. It is my understanding that you are the only apothecary, are you not?"

The shopkeeper nodded. "I am. My name is Millie Goodwell. I run a respectable shop, ser."

Fenris smiled. "Of that I have no doubt, good lady. May I ask if you have had any customers with whom you were not familiar? Perhaps in the last two weeks?"

Millie nodded. "Sure. I've had a few," she replied. "Ah, I had a fellow in here last night, as a matter of fact. He bought some oil and a few other things."

"Was he a mage?"

"No, he wasn't dressed like one, and I didn't see a staff. He was dressed rather finely, as I recall, had on a lovely cloak."

"A cloak, you say?" the warrior repeated. "That seems unusual, given the heat, does it not? What did he buy?"

"Uh, well, I suppose it is a mite warm for a cloak. He uh, he bought oil, some elfroot and two live lizards. He was making a dye for his socks, he said."

Fenris's heart began to thud. "A man, in a cloak, bought ingredients for dying _cloth_?"

Millie again nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"What color would this dye have been, given what you sold him?"

"A dark color, a brown, or perhaps a black if one used both lizards. Though, now that I think on it, if he was making the dye yielded from those particular lizards, then it could be used for more than cloth."

"Could it be used for a person's hair?"

"Why, yes, I expect it could," she replied.

Fenris slowly pulled the folded wanted poster of Anders out of his breastplate and spread it open on the countertop. "The man who purchased the lizards, did he resemble the one in this picture?"

Millie glanced down at the paper and her color drained. "Yes, that's him. Is that the mage that killed the Cleric? Oh, oh dear! He was in my shop?" she cried in a panic. "Oh kind ser, I swear I didn't know! He was so polite, and he even paid me above cost! I didn't know!" Tears sprang into the elderly woman's eyes. "Maker, forgive me! I didn't know! I would never have…I'm a faithful Andrastrian!"

Fenris raised a hand. "Good woman, have no concern. Did he say where he was going? Did he say anything to hint at his direction?"

Millie, breathing heavily and wiping away tears, shook her head frantically. "No! I swear to you!"

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" he inquired and again, the woman shook her head. "I am very grateful, madam, for your aid. Please, alert a village guardsman should you see this mage again. Be wary: he is deadly, and should not be approached."

The merchant blinked rapidly. "Yes, I'll be very careful! Thank you!"

With a slight bow, Fenris left the shop, his steps taking him swiftly back to the office of Captain Jenkins.

"Fenris, I'm guessing you went to the apothecary?" Jenkins asked as the elf charged back into the office. He watched quietly as the other man began searching the previous night's reports. "Fenris? Did you learn something?"

"Perhaps," Fenris replied. "Where is the report regarding the man who left the Broken Back Tavern, his tab unpaid?"

"It's in there," Jenkins replied. "What's going on?"

"The mage is here, Captain. He visited the apothecary last night," Fenris explained. "If my theory is correct, he has changed his appearance. It is possible that the man from last night's incident with the barmaid is one and the same."

"Shit," Jenkins muttered. Fenris found the report and he and Jenkins studied it together. "Fenris, I think we need to go over there. Let's see what Anna can tell us about this thief of hers."

"Agreed."

**xXx**

Merrill was hiding in the alley outside of the Hanged Man. It was dark now, and she hoped to move through Lowtown with less attention; the last thing she needed was a Templar spotting her out and about, her staff barely hidden beneath her long cloak. Seeing the coast was clear, she began to move.

It was risky, she knew, to travel with proof for the Templars in hand, but thugs were abundant in this area, and she wasn't willing to waste time having to turn away from her purpose because ruffians blocked her path. Rounding the last corner, she slipped behind a column, waiting for a guardsman to pass. Finally, she hurried across the courtyard and rapped lightly on the door.

Whispers were exchanged and she was quickly ushered inside.

"Merrill, what's this all about?" called a woman from the loft of the warehouse.

"Penny! I'm so glad you're still here! Can I come up?"

Penny, Varric's right-hand in the warehouse, nodded. "Of course, is everything alright?"

Merrill climbed the stairs and she and Penny went to the back office. "Penny, I can't find Varric. No one seems to be worried, and Norah keeps telling me to relax, but I'm _certain_ something's not right. Walter said he took a note to David last night, and that Varric was chasing down a lead about someone threatening Hawke. Do you know anything about that?"

Penny nodded. "Not about the lead, but I knew about Varric's orders. He asked David to meet with Jimmy this morning, since Jimmy was here last night to receive a few shipments. Normally, Varric likes to go through the latest stock himself, but he sent David over instead."

Merrill scratched her head. "Yes, that's what Walter said too. But Walter also said that Varric told him to wait for him back at the Hanged Man, which makes me think he intended to be back by now. I mean, Varric would never expect Walter to stay _this_ long, he knows the boy's got Cricket to look after."

The human woman frowned. "Varric didn't let me know he would be gone for any length of time," she admitted. "I'll agree that's not how he would normally operate, but you know how he is when things have to do with Hawke. He's very protective," she reasoned, but seeing Merrill's concern was sincere, sighed. "You know what? Wait here, I'll be right back."

Penny left the office and Merrill watched her return to the floor of the warehouse, where she spoke with several men. Two left quickly and Penny walked back up to the office.

"No one's seen Varric today, but Gordon and Conrad are going to ask around, and they'll report back here," Penny explained. "He was investigating a threat against Hawke, you said?"

"Something like that, yes. Apparently Walter got a good tip and Varric hurried off."

"To?"

"Hightown, or at least, an inn there," the mage answered in a rush. "Oh, Creators, this is very bad, I just know it!"

Penny smiled kindly. "Listen, Varric's probably just fine. Knowing him, he got a lead from the lead and he's hot on the trail of something. I'll get reports form Gordon and Conrad and send someone to your place, give you an update, okay?"

Merrill shook her head. "No! I'm telling you, something's gone bad! Varric's in trouble!"

"Penny!" bellowed a man from the warehouse floor, and Penny stuck her head out of the door to answer.

"What? Gordon, you're back already?" she asked in surprise.

"Penny, Varric missed his meeting with the Antivan Brandy contact."

The woman's face grew tight and she slowly turned back to face Merrill. "Merrill? I think you may be…"

Merrill rushed past Penny, and, in the blink of an eye, the small elf raced from the warehouse and into the night, her staff clutched in her hand, all concern for her own concealment forgotten.

Nearly a half an hour later, the panting elf arrived at the front door of Kirkwall's Guard Captain. She began to pound in earnest.

A moment passed and the door opened, a bare-chested Donnic blocking her path. "Donnic!" Merrill cried. "Do move! I must see Aveline!" she exclaimed and wiggled her small frame through the minute space the large man didn't occupy in the door frame.

Not waiting, Merrill hurried to the back of the home, calling for Aveline as she went. The red haired human stumbled into the hall, clearly awakened from a dead sleep. "Merrill? What in the world are you doing here? What's gone on?" she demanded.

Donnic arrived, his eyes full of concern.

Merrill was still gasping for breath but tried to explain. "I told them," she panted, "but no one would listen! Kept telling me to be calm! How…Creators there's a lot of steps from Lowtown to here…" she swallowed and blew out a hard breath. "How can I be calm at a time like this?"

Aveline gaped. "Merrill! Why are you in my home in the middle of the bloody night?"

"Because we need you!"

Aveline nearly growled. "Why? Merrill! Why do you need me?"

"Weren't you listening? Varric is missing!" the small woman exclaimed.

"What? When did you say…wait, Varric is missing? Since when?"

"I'll just go get dressed," Donnic said, moving past his wife and into their bedroom.

Aveline stared at Merrill in complete confusion. "I just saw…"

Merrill threw her hands up in the air. "Aveline! Stop lollygagging! Get a move on! We've got to save our dwarf!" she exclaimed, and began to push Aveline back into her bedroom.

"Damn it, Merrill!" Aveline barked, pushing back at the elf. "Start explaining or I'm going to hit you!"

"Varric is gone, Aveline! He left to go find some man from Starkhaven at some inn that Walter told him about, and he's yet to return!" the blood mage said. "He's been gone since last night, and no one has seen him since! He even missed a meeting with a brandy smuggler!"

Aveline frowned and turned to look back at Donnic, who had finished dressing. "Starkhaven? Alright, Merrill, you've got my attention. Love, would you go find Walter?"

Donnic nodded. "Of course, we'll meet you at the Hanged Man," he said and left the room.

Aveline began to dress and Merrill paced up and down the hall while she waited. A few minutes later, Aveline appeared in her full plate. "Come, Merrill, let's go find our dwarf."

_**As always, thanks Lisa for the bangin' beta...more thanks for your general fabulousness! **_

_**Yeah, it's been awhile, hasn't it? How all y'all been? I hope well! I owe everyone a big apology for letting this story go so long with no updates. Y'all don't want to hear the three hundred reasons why it went as long as it did, but it's my hope to be able to do better...certainly better than every six freaking months! Thanks for reading and I hope you'll accept my humble apology!**_


	22. A itch, A Clue & A Few Meddling Templar

**A Bitch, A Clue and A Few Meddling Templars**

Anders sighed, glancing around his meager room, checking that he would leave no clues as to his true identity behind.

When he'd left the Broken Back, he'd been devastated by Lorelai's betrayal, and he'd spent the last day and two nights in agony. He would close his eyes and his mind saw only his beautiful rogue naked beneath Sebastian, the vile Chantry man, rutting between her white thighs. He'd cried and wailed against the images, and only the impressive selection of cheap wine kept by the innkeeper saved him from losing his mind completely.

Dawn had greeted him the first morning with its cruel hope, and he'd hidden his head from the beams filtering through the shabby curtains, lamenting that he'd not drunk himself to death.

But he hadn't, and he'd awoken again this morning, the same twisted and cruel truth slowly eating away at his deadened heart. He'd known then, as the last of his happiest memories died, that he had nowhere to go but the Imperium.

When he'd been in the Tower he'd learned to harness the vile crimes perpetrated upon him by the Templars, he'd learned to hone his hatred, to turn the bitterness inside him into the fuel for his determination to change things. Sometime during last night, before the wine had pulled him to a Fadeless black, he'd realized he must do the same with this pain.

It was then that he'd also realized his new purpose.

Neither Lorelai nor Sebastian had any comprehension of the difficulty of having magic; they would never fully understand the plight of a mage. His unborn child's father, grandfather and aunt were all mages, its lineage strong with magic. How could it also not be a mage?

How would, Anders wondered, the devout Andrastian, the man once so certain of the righteousness of his faith he'd allowed another to rule his lands, deal with his wife's child being a mage? It would be detested and locked away, Anders knew; controlled and doomed to suffer because it would be feared, and never valued.

Sebastian may have taken its mother from him, but he'd be damned to the Void before the mage hater would enslave and jail his child.

He would take the wealth in his pouches, the notoriety of his actions, and the potent magic mastered during his years with Justice, and become a magister capable of rivaling even a prince's power…a man capable of protecting _his_ child and affording it every hope and dream.

Looking around the room a final time, he allowed the cold certainty of his new course to settle his nerves, and stepped into the hall, his future clear.

**xXx**

The market was crowded today, the arrival of several dozen Templars from the west having filled the village to near bursting. The sun wasn't yet at its peak, and Fenris was leaning against a vacant stall, his green eyes studying the crowd.

Anders was still here, he felt it in his bones. He and Captain Foster had interviewed Anna the barmaid the previous evening, and she had felt confident that the man she'd described matched the one on Fenris's wanted poster. While Foster had greeted the news with something akin to horror, Fenris had been quietly thrilled to know he had the abomination within his grasp.

He'd come to the market early this morning, determined to watch and prepared to pounce. Again he reminded himself that his dedication would reward both him and his family of friends. Soon, very soon, the mage would be dead at his feet and Fenris would know, once and for all, that Lorelai Hawke was truly safe from harm.

A guardsman nodded an amiable greeting to him as he passed, and Fenris shot the man a fierce frown, displeased to have his concentration broken. He mentally chastised himself, and forced out an insincere 'Good Morning'. He'd come to like Captain Foster a good deal, and were it not for the man's cooperation, Fenris would likely have continued his search without hope of finding his quarry. He would not act with ill manners toward those to whom he was grateful.

The polite exchange completed, the guard moved on. Fenris resumed his inspection of the people milling throughout the market. It wasn't difficult to sort who was who, as the sea of Templars wearing their traditional plate allowed for those not in armor to stand out clearly.

He noticed the high collar first, his curiosity piqued by the way the person seemed to hide behind it, but it was the posture, the man's gait, which propelled him forward.

"Today is our day, abomination," he whispered under his breath, closing the space between them.

**xXx**

Music filtered in through the balcony doors, the soiree in the private royal gardens below - never before opened to visitors - reaching full swing. It was a warm day, but a gentle breeze stirred the summer blossoms. The setting was intimate and elegant, exactly as Sebastian had wished.

It was a calculated thing, Lorelai's introduction, one he'd planned to the last detail. Those chosen to attend were selected based on status, position, and their level of influence within the current Court. His intention, by keeping the list of invitees limited, had been to create a sense of an inner circle, to provide the chosen few with the belief that they were being brought into the folds of the new rule.

If the guests fell into line, retelling today's event as he hoped, then Sebastian would know to whom he would show favor. Earning this was crucial to those in the Court, as with it, monopolies could be earned, trade negotiations influenced, and statuses elevated. Having their private coffers* tied to Sebastian's favor would ensure he could count on their acceptance of his princess.

Purse strings, his mother had always said, were the real shorthairs to hold onto.

The people in the garden held immense political power, their personal fortunes some of the greatest in the city-state. But while some were from long established families, many were new to their position, making retaining it far more dependent on the atmosphere within the Court. Sebastian was counting on their need for gossip and information to design his wife's image.

Goran had done little to direct the mood and motivations of the Starkhaven court. The power the prince naturally held had been diminished with Goran's lack of understanding how to wield it.

It was time to take back the control the inept prince had relinquished.

The returning prince was a known entity to the nobles. As the son of the last popular sovereigns, most anticipated that Sebastian would rule much as his parents had. While his sordid past, as well as his time in the Chantry would be a source of speculation and gossip, it was his new wife who would receive the harshest judgment.

The rumors of her life in Kirkwall were thundering past with them a ferocity that shocked even him. It was imperative that he manipulate the stories as much as his power allowed, and his power, once taken, would afford him a great deal.

The arrangements for today had been done at near breakneck pace, completed in just a few days time. It had initially been Lorelai's suggestion to host the event, one aimed at demonstrating that the new prince and princess were young, social and sophisticated, thereby highlighting that the current prince was not. The more Sebastian could distinguish himself from Goran, the more support would be won for Sebastian's return, and a united court would greatly ease the transition.

Lorelai had helped all she could, eager to aid him and to understand the politics surrounding them. She'd quietly asked that an invitation be extended to Cameron and Marie, and he'd agreed. He'd expected that Baron Tisdale and his wife would decline, but receiving their answer had been more hurtful than he'd expected, the disappointment more than he wished to reveal.

She'd sensed his pain though, and respected his desire to ignore it. She'd recognized his need, and he suspected it was mutual, neither one of them willing to broach the subject, yet neither able to disregard the sense of loss, either. It was, as Varric would say, the bronto in the room.

"Seb?" she called from across the suite, drawing him from his serious thoughts. He turned his gaze from the party below, and watched her graceful approach.

"Oh my," he breathed. "You're magnificent, Lorelai."

She smiled sheepishly, her hand at her hips. "I liked it," she replied. "It's not too much?"

She wore an intricate gown of violet, her hair up in a complicated coil, with small delicate purple flowers woven into the twists. The gown was the latest of fashions from Val Royeux, its cut enhancing her breasts and long form; her burgeoning belly, while less obvious, was not completely hidden.

"No, Darlin', it's lovely and befits a princess of Starkhaven," he said with a sincere smile. "I like that you've paired my mother's necklace with it as well. She favored that one."

"Thank you," she preened. "The stones are nearly the color of the dress. Look at the best part, I even had a slip made for my dagger," she said happily, turning a fold in the fabric. Indeed, he caught a glimpse of a hilt. "And the design makes the baby look smaller too," she noted, her hands moving to her middle. "That's a good thing, given everything, isn't it?"

"Aye," he smiled, arching an eyebrow. "A dagger? Darlin', I dinnae believe that will be necessary in this crowd."

"Vipers are sneaky, Seb, and one can never be too prepared," she answered with a saucy grin. "Speaking of vipers, shouldn't we be going down?"

His smile slipped as he sighed. "Aye, I expect we should. I believe they should nearly be ready to announce us. Are you prepared? Do you remember my advice?"

"Absolutely!" she said with false cheer. "I'm going to have Starkhaven mad for me in no time, just you wait."

He gazed down at her, cupping her chin and slowly kissing her. "Indeed."

"I mean, it can't be any worse than facing the Arishok, right? Or Meredith?" she whispered with a giggle against his lips. He didn't answer, but offered the false smile he used when he didn't want her to worry. She kissed him lightly, her hand against his tanned cheek. "Come, it'll be fine. You've planned it perfectly; I'll make you proud, I swear it."

"I already am. I just wish…" he began but didn't finish his thoughts.

"The Averys?" she asked softly.

He looked away. "I'd held hope that Cam would change his mind. I would have appreciated his counsel today."

She bit her lip. "I know, Seb. I know, and I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "You've nothing to be sorry for. I made a grave error in no' considering Cameron's view, but I cannae expect it to simply right itself, can I?" he said sadly. "Nay, he's got every reason in the world to be angry, but my hands are tied. I cannae risk the Court knowing we've had a falling out, there are too many alliances based on our unity, so I cannae simply go to him an' apologize as I wish. It's too public now."

"I could."

His blue eyes grew sharp. "No," he said firmly. "Absolutely not. You've done no wrong, Lorelai, and I will no' have you humble yourself like that. This must be settled between him an' me, but no' at your expense; you aren't at fault."

"But if…"

"…If he cannae see that _my_ motivation for leaving him in the dark was no different than _his_ motivation for sending us from his home, then we won't get very far in the first place."

"Sebastian…"

"The matter is closed, Lorelai. I mean this," he said. "I will no' have you negotiating our reconciliation, or lack of it. We will work it out."

She frowned, and for a moment, he was certain she would pursue the matter further, but she slowly nodded. "I understand."

"Come then, let's show them how a Hawke does things, shall we?" he said, taking her hand and leading her from the room.

**xXx**

Another day had passed with no word from Varric.

On the start of the third night, Merrill had wept all over Donnic's gleaming guard plate, and, once spent, she'd fallen into a deep sleep. Placing her on a bed in Varric's room at the Hanged Man, he and Aveline had tucked the blood mage in, securing the door before they returned to the dwarf's office.

"Donnic, what'll we do? You and I both know we're running out of time," Aveline had whispered, fear lacing her words. "Maker help me, I'm starting to think he'd dead!"

Her husband shook his head. "No, love, I disagree. Varric is far to savvy a man, there's more to this than we've learned. He's very well connected, and his skills considerable. He's nobody's fool. Someone has him and taking him has a purpose."

She closed her eyes and scrubbed her face. "But who? We've yet to find a bloody clue! How can he simply be gone?"

"I still believe the answer is in the information Walter gave Varric that day."

"I agree," she said. "Yet that's gotten us nowhere. The bugger from Starkhaven had checked out the morning Walter reported to Varric."

"Yet Walter had a room number, didn't he? Is it possible the lad followed the wrong person? Perhaps he misunderstood the scenario he witnessed?"

Aveline frowned. "I find that very difficult to believe. Walter is young, yes, but he's seasoned when it comes to the streets. I've never heard Varric speak poorly of the information he provides."

Donnic frowned. "Then we go back to Walter. We've missed something."

She nodded. "Right," she began, turning to leave the backroom, but stopped short. "Well, that's easy! Look who's just getting his dinner from Norah!"

Walter offered a polite nod as he made eye contact with the captain, and he worked his way through the crowd to greet her at the top of the stairs. "Hello, Captain. Is there something you needed? Have you had any luck finding Varric?"

Aveline shook her head. "No, and we're running out of time. Walter, we need to go over what you told Varric that night, as well as what you witnessed."

The lad nodded. "Of course, I'm pleased to help."

An hour later, Walter's dinner finished, the informant and the guards were still deep in conversation.

Donnic shifted in his seat. "So, you reached the inn and the man entered."

Walter nodded. "Yes, and I gave him a moment to do so without me following. I didn't want to show myself, you know?"

"That was wise of you," Donnic complimented.

"Thank you, ser," Walter said, sitting up tall in his chair.

"So, you entered the inn and followed the man to his room, who then…"

"Oh, I didn't," Walter answered, shaking his head.

"Pardon?" Donnic asked.

"I didn't follow him to his room."

"But you've reported that he was in room number seven," Donnic argued in confusion.

"Wait," Aveline said quickly. "You said you allowed the man to enter and gave him a moment. Was he in the lobby when you did enter?"

Walter shook his head again. "No ma'am. He'd already gone up to his room."

"Then how did you know he was in room seven? Did you knock on all the doors?" she asked.

"Maker, no! I'd have been found out then, wouldn't I?" Walter said incredulously.

Donnic sat forward. "Who told you his room then, if you didn't follow the man to it?"

"Well, I took the nice handkerchief my mother made me out of my pocket, and I told the innkeeper that the man had dropped it, that I wanted to return it," Walter explained. "So I described the man, and at first the innkeeper said there wasn't anyone like that there as a guest. But I said that I'd seen him come in, I insisted, and he, the keeper that is, finally said, 'Oh, that bloke!' and he wrote 'Number Seven' on a scrap of parchment and put it with my mother's 'kerchief, and tucked it under the counter."

"You didn't _see_ the man from Starkhaven go into room seven?" Donnic clarified. "You got the number from the note?"

"Sure. I can read, well, I can mostly read, and I'm decent with numbers," Walter reasoned. "I was real unhappy, let me tell you, when I realized the fellow was going to keep the handkerchief, it was the last thing my mum had given me, but I couldn't give myself away."

"The innkeeper didn't agree the man you described was a guest." Donnic and Walter both turned to look at Aveline as she spoke. "Isn't that what you just said? The innkeeper said, 'Oh, that bloke.' But that's not a confirmation that the man you followed was a guest. Do we know _who_ was in room seven then?"

"Milo Thompson," Donnic answered.

"What do we know of him?"

"Not a great deal, he checked out the morning this all occurred, and he didn't match the description, not in the least, so there wasn't a lot asked," Donnic reminded her.

"But what if the innkeeper had it right, and the 'bloke' wasn't a guest at all?" she speculated. "What if he was only there to see Messere Thompson?"

"Bloody hell," Donnic muttered.

"When Thompson checked out, where did he go?" Walter asked.

"The address was somewhere in Lowtown," Donnic revealed.

"Why get a room at an inn in Kirkwall, if you bloody live in Kirkwall?" Walter speculated.

"That's a damned good question, Walter," Aveline noted.

"One I'd like an answer to," Donnic announced as he stood. "Shall we?" he asked and all three left the Hanged Man for Hightown.

**xXx**

The afternoon was growing long and Lorelai, having been introduced to everyone individually, was joining some of the various women she'd met in small talk.

It was her hope to do less talking and more listening, but she quickly understood that naturally, she was the center of their attention as well as their curiosity. She'd fielded their questions as best she could, her choice of words as deliberate and selective as was possible and eventually, those surrounding her had been satiated, and resumed their idle chatter.

Taking advantage of their distraction, she studied the women surrounding her, and she realized sadly that she had little in common with any of them. Their manner was so controlled and practiced, something she too would have to master, and something which she knew meant they could each be very different than how they presented themselves.

Setting this aside though, it was their hands, unmarred and smooth, and their skin, so perfect and protected, that told her a great deal. Clearly, they were not the kind who enjoyed a good sparing match in the warm sun, and most certainly did not know how to throw a knife or string a bow.

She smiled politely at a comment directed at her, and she forced her thoughts to return to their conversation.

"Your Highness, have you had the chance to meet Calista?" inquired the wife of Lord McBride. "She's just returned from her honeymoon, and is the new bride of Arl Donnelly."

Lorelai smoothed an elegant smile on her lips and greeted the woman. She was beautiful, stunning in fact, and she dropped into a deep curtsey, her ample breasts nearly rebelling against the confines of her strained gown. She was bedazzled with jewels, and she had a false beauty mark on her cheek. Beautiful this woman may be, but clearly, she was very aware of it and eager to exploit it.

"Arlessa Donnelly," Lorelai said in greeting.

"Your Highness, it's my great honor to meet you. I am breathless with excitement!" Calista gushed.

_Not from the excitement,_ Lorelai thought to herself, watching the material of her gown stretch ever further. "It's a pleasure. Please accept my congratulations on your nuptials."

"Oh, thank you! I am so thrilled in my marriage," she breathed. "As you must be as well, my lady! We've that in common, amongst other things."

Lorelai recognized the bait in Calista's words but ignored it. "Indeed," she replied simply and glanced at the others. The ladies noted that Lorelai wasn't engaging Calista in further conversation, and their chatter quickly resumed. Calista Donnelly, however, was determined to force Lorelai's attention to her, dropping hints and comments that required her replies.

"Your Highness, I would be remarkably grateful if you would join us for luncheon at our home! I've just had the whole of the pile redecorated, and it would be a chance for us to become friends, to share stories!"

"Thank you, Arlessa," Lorelai answered. "Perhaps it could be arranged in the future; however, my husband and I are still settling into the Palace, and our schedule is very full."

The small dance floor, erected in the center of the gardens, was full of swirling traditional dancers, and as a new reel was begun, the women moved closer to enjoy the graceful and lively steps.

"Oh!" cried Calista, stumbling slightly and grabbing frantically at Lorelai's arm, jerking them both to a halt. "Ouch! Oh goodness!"

The women paused to see what was happening, and Calista grimaced. "Forgive me! I've a stone in my slipper! It's terribly sharp!" she exclaimed, leaning heavily on Lorelai still. "Go on! We'll catch up! I'm certain Her Highness will be a friend and get me to that bench."

Annoyance crept up Lorelai's spine, but she smiled with ease at the other ladies, dismissing them before walking with Calista to a nearby bench. Dramatically the woman eased herself down, grinning up at Lorelai as she did.

"Forgive me, please, Your Highness! It's so dreadfully painful!" she said, lifting her skirts to then shake the stone from her slipper. Lorelai noted it was remarkably small and round as it fell into the grass. "But it's wonderful to get you alone for a moment, truly. I know we will be fast and dear friends, Your Highness!"

Lorelai arched an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Of course! We've loads in common! We're nearly the same age, we're newly married, and we both simply adore the Prince!" she explained. "His Highness and I are very old friends! We were quite _close _before his leaving for Kirkwall, you see."

Lorelai's annoyance shifted to anger as the innuendo hung between them. "It's interesting that my husband has never mentioned you. But as I recall, he once had many _close_ friends."

Calista sneered. "That's true, I expect, as he was quite - how shall I put it? - _popular_ then. But you see, some friends were more _valued_ than others. I, for example, was a _great_ confidant."

"Calista, you shrew, who let you in here?" asked a voice from behind them.

"Marie!" Lorelai exclaimed, shocked to see the Lady Tisdale.

"Lorelai, darling, forgive my tardiness, but I would rather have been late than miss today," Marie announced, her eyes still locked with Calista's. "I'm so very glad I did, else you would have been left to swim these shark infested waters without a friend," she continued. "Calista, I asked you a question."

"It's Arlessa, Lady Tisdale, a step _above_ a baroness," Calista said regally. "Remember that. I was just explaining that to our new Princess, why we were honored with an invitation. She and I were enjoying a private moment, as we're on our way to becoming dear friends!"

"That I doubt very much, she's neither stupid nor malleable," Marie said flatly. "Nor is she easily intimidated by power hungry whores. I expect, as you're all of those things, your name will come clean off the potential friends list."

Calista stood slowly, smoothing her gown, a smile on her beautiful face. "Marie, you really should be more respectful of your betters, dear. As far as friends, I'm sure Her Highness, being as smart as you say, can see what she needs to do to make her way in _this_ Court. There is far too much history and too many horrible rumors going about to be pushing away new allies, after all," she smiled, looking at Lorelai. "Rumors that a friend, such as myself, could help to quell."

"The implication being, of course, that if I tell you to go to the Void, you'll help spread them," Lorelai observed.

Calista's smile slipped. "Thank you, Your Highness, for your aid. I believe I shall rejoin our group," she said calmly and stepped away.

"Calista?" Marie called, and the woman halted. "I don't believe you were dismissed. What were you saying about your betters? I'm certain she said something about her betters," she said to Lorelai.

"I think you're correct, Marie," the rogue replied. "Calista?"

The woman's eyes were brilliant with anger, her beauty tainted by it. "Forgive me," she said through clenched teeth. "May I rejoin our friends, Your Highness, or have you further need of me?"

"Did you need anything, Marie?" Lorelai asked, smiling like a loon. Marie grinned but shook her head and Lorelai again met Calista's eyes. "Thank you, you may go."

Both watched the Arlessa leave, each biting the inside of their cheek to keep from laughing.

"Oh Marie, thank you! I was ready to slap her!"

"She'd have earned it if you had, the demented cow!" Marie said. "She's a snake in the grass, that one. She's got the vilest reputation and she'll do anything for power. She's an Arlessa now, yes, but the Arl of Donnelly is older than my grandfather, so you tell me what _that_ marriage is about."

Lorelai laughed. "Oh, I've _no_ idea," she teased and Marie giggled. A lull settled between them. "You came. Thank you."

Marie sighed. "I'm not supposed to be here, as a matter of fact, I'm forbidden from being here."

Lorelai nodded. "Then why did you come?"

Marie studied the blooms on a nearby rosebush. "Because Cameron is hurting," she answered softly, before looking back at Lorelai. "I don't like what you and Sebastian did. I hate it, if I'm honest, but in the very short amount of time we've known each other, you've impressed me as a good person. And despite what deception was played, I _know_ Sebastian is. So I came, and I'm here, willing to listen."

Tears tingled in Lorelai's eyes. "I can't thank you enough," she confessed. "I want to tell you everything; I want to make this right, for us, and for our husbands."

"We can't fix their troubles, Lorelai, and Maker knows they'd have a fit if we tried. No, they will have to do that for themselves," Marie replied. "But I am willing to consider that there are things I don't know, and motivations I don't understand that led you and Sebastian to this. I would like to hear those reasons, before I decide what I think."

"We never meant to place the girls, or you, or anyone in harm's way, I swear it, Marie."

"I believe you," the dark haired woman said quietly. "Come, you can't be away from the event for any length of time, it'll draw too much attention. I'll stay and perhaps we can talk after?"

"Please, I'd like that very much."

Marie smiled half-heartedly. "Well, if I've your permission, then let's return to the dancing, shall we?"

With a nod, they walked together back to the center of the garden.

**xXx**

There was motion to his left and Anders turned, only to lock eyes with a pair of familiar green ones.

"Fenris," he hissed under his breath and turned to dart down a side alley off the main market. His heart hammered in his chest as he scurried, only to realize he was in a dead end, two homes narrowing to cut off his escape.

"Shit!" he panted and spun around to search. He raced to the side of one of the homes, trying to open the only window he saw, but it was coated in grime and had clearly been nailed shut long ago.

"Trapped like the rat you are," called the familiar voice from the opening of the alley. "You've nowhere to run, Abomination."

"Stay back, Fenris! I've no quarrel with you!"

"Do you not?"

"No!" Anders rasped, panicked, darting from side to side as he searched for another route.

"There is no exit but the one behind me, and I assure you, Mage, _you will not pass_," Fenris said in a deadly tone.

"Why are you here, Fenris?" Anders demanded. "What do you want?"

"Your death."

Anders snorted still moving, his eyes roaming the buildings. "I can't help you with that, mate. I've no intention of dying."

"How shall you stop me, Abomination? I would not recommend magic, as the legion of Templars in the market will take certainly exception to its use. I expect they will be as unforgiving as I, once they realize who they have."

Anders stared at Fenris, his nostrils flaring, sweat beading on his brow. "Did Lorelai send you?"

"No."

"Then why do this? I've left! I've left Kirkwall, I can't threaten anyone!"

"You are an abomination, Mage, and you will pay for the crimes against Hawke and all of Kirkwall. Prepare to die."

"No! No!" Anders cried, holding a hand out. "Justice is gone! He left me after Lorelai stabbed me! I'm just a man now!"

"No, you are far from _just a man_," Fenris snarled, advancing slowly. "You are a liar, a schemer, and above all, a murderer. You abused her, your twisted goals soiling each of us. Our hands have the blood of innocents on them, and your lies that coated them in it."

"I wasn't myself! Justice was in complete control!" Anders argued. "I was his slave! His will replaced my own!"

"You know _nothing_ of being a slave, Mage," Fenris spat. "You are not redeemable, and I will protect what you would harm."

"No! Listen to me! When Danarius ordered you to kill, did you refuse? No, because it was your life or theirs! Justice was my master! I had no choice!"

Fenris sneered. "It was a yoke you willingly put on, was it not?" The elf stood to his full height and held his chin high. "Do not attempt to compare our lives; I will not be demeaned by such a comparison!"

Anders panted and crept closer to the mouth of the alley. "I am leaving this alley and this village, Fenris. You will never see me again, I swear it, if you just let me pass."

"I will not. You die here and now. Muster what honor you have not yet cast aside and die with dignity," Fenris replied, raising his Sword of Mercy to strike.

"Aargh!" Anders screamed and he tackled Fenris, throwing his full weight into knocking the powerful warrior flat.

The sword clanged against the cobblestone and they wrestled briefly until Fenris successfully stunned Anders with a gauntlet clad fist to his cheek. Fenris scrambled the few feet to his sword and rolled back, ready to bring the blade down into the mage.

"No!" Anders bellowed and he kicked high, catching Fenris in his middle. The warrior was stunned only briefly, but Anders managed to recover his feet and began to run.

Fenris roared in fury and gave chase, following Anders out of the alley and back into the center of the crowded market.

"Help!" Anders cried, pushing his way through the crowd. "Help! He's trying to rob me!"

Fenris's battle cry sounded behind him and Anders was tackled onto the ground. He rolled onto his back only to have his next cry for help slammed forcefully back into his mouth. Blows rained down on him, the mighty strength behind each one nearly rendering him unconscious. The vision in his left eye became red with blood, but regardless he saw Fenris's markings glow brightly, and he felt a searing heat pierce the skin of his chest.

Suddenly, it stopped.

From above him, Anders saw four Templars wrestle Fenris off, and they pulled him from his sight. An elderly woman leaned over him, and a few hands helped him back to his feet. He staggered a bit, but those same hands steadied him and he was handed a rag; he pressed it to the gash over his left eyebrow.

"Maker! I've never seen such a thing!" cried the elderly woman. "Are you alright?"

Anders wobbled slightly but nodded. "Yes, madam, I am grateful for everyone's intervention."

"Elf was robbin' you, wasn't he? Their kind is always thievin'," asked a man, his hands on Anders's shoulder. "Good thing we've got these Templars about!"

"The bugger was glowin'! Did you see that? He burned your chest, mate!" exclaimed another voice and the crowd began to chatter excitedly around him.

Anders drew a breath, the skin over his heart stinging with pain, but he needed to use this time to escape. "Thank you, all of you. I see my companions now, I'll go clean up."

"Can I help you walk there? Where are they?" asked the woman.

"Just over there," he replied vaguely. "I'm so grateful," he said quickly, eager to distract the crowd. "For each of you," he said, passing the woman a handful of silvers. "Thank you!"

The money did the trick, the crowd moving to surround the elderly woman, eager for their share of the unexpected reward. He forced himself to ignore the pain, checked he had his belongings and hurried as best he could from the market.

_**My gratitude to Lisa, for her red balloons of beta goodness! Fen will have his day!**_

_**Thank you to each of you for reading, alerting (wow, lots of news ones there!) and reviewing. I promised I'd do better about updating, and I plan to keep that promise! Thanks for not giving up all hope! **_


	23. The Truth Dies Here

**The Truth Dies Here**

The smell was the worst part.

For the last three days he'd been beaten, interrogated, slapped, starved and even hung by his wrists while they screamed in his face, but it was the smell that was the worst.

He'd watched the sunlight creep across the floor through a crack in a high ceiling of the cavern he was in, which he'd used to keep track of time. He'd counted the stalactites, he'd memorized the way the water dropped from each one, he'd done all he could to keep his mind alert, but the smell…

He figured it was a combination of something between shit and rotten meat, and the addition of his own foul body odor was a combination that might just break his will to continue to tell these people to sit and spin.

"Varric," said a voice from above him. "Vaaarric," sang the voice again. "It's time to wake up."

It was her, the same beautiful, evil, sadistic bitch who'd been going at him since he woke up in this hell hole. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling the cool of the stone beneath his cheek, and tried to turn his head, but the pain of what he was sure was a broken cheekbone had him hissing in agony.

"Oh, do be careful. I'm fairly certain that's a broken bone you've got there."

Varric slowly licked his dry lips, only to have the top one spilt from the effort. "I expect it's not the only one, Alberta," he rasped.

"Alberta," she repeated. "Why do you persist in calling me such a name? It sounds so…unflattering."

"Go figure," the dwarf breathed, pulling himself up to his knees.

"You know, Varric, it's that kind of attitude that has impeded our progress," she purred, leaning close to his torn ear. The lobe was swollen and infected with pus, from their first meeting, when she'd ripped his earring out. "We could be finished with this; you could be home again, comfortable and warm in your little hovel of a bar."

"Oh, I must have missed the part where you were going to let me go. I expect I lost track of that little nugget yesterday, when you were holding my head underwater."

She smiled, her eyes glinting with evil. "I did let you breathe."

"Good point, I'll have to start calling you something far more flattering."

She walked slowly around him, her boots clicking against the stone. "Did your rest help you? Are you ready to tell me where the mage is?"

"Where are your buddies? And I already answered that," he breathed. "You're repeating yourself. I hear that's a sign of insanity."

"Ha," she chuckled. "Only if I expect to receive the same results, but you see, I don't. I think there's a lot you're not sharing. How did the Champion plant the explosives in the chantry?"

"She didn't."

"Then explain to me how a mage entered the chantry, navigated its underbelly and placed them, entirely undetected by the dozens of Templars who occupied the building," she demanded.

"That's a question for Knight-Commander Cullen, I'd think."

The clicking of her heels paused. "The Champion aided the apostate Anders, she facilitated his actions. He did not die at her hand, as you, and so many others have claimed. Now she has fled the city before we arrived and she has married a lay brother. A lay brother we all trusted, one who not only had access to the chantry, but was a close aid to the Grand Cleric herself."

"She _fled_ because the Coterie was trying to kill her," Varric snapped. "Even you, someone clearly dumber than the average nug, must know that her place was attacked. And if you think Choir Boy did a damned thing to help Anders, you're definitely insane. He loved Elthina like a mother!"

She smiled. "We _all_ loved Her Grace. We are here in her honor, and we have taken up our cause to ensure that she is avenged! We would have defended her to the death!"

"Excellent job you did with that," he quipped, testing a suspicion. The punch didn't surprise him, but the pain was astonishing. She'd chosen to punch his shattered cheek. His stomach rolled from the intensity of it and he buckled to his knees.

"That apostate never gave us a chance! He fought with no honor! He drew no sword!" she screamed. "His hate of faith and righteousness destroyed…"

"A great deal," said a calm voice from Varric's left. "Helena, I thought we agreed our guest needs rest, some food and some medical care. You're not supposed to be here. Go, and I shall see to his needs, while you meet with our friends."

"No, we were just getting started!"

"I think you've gone as far as you can," said the man, his tone firm. "Go now. You may join the others for vespers if you are quick."

Varric heard her huff loudly, but she obeyed and the sound of her boots became distant, then silent.

"Thanks," Varric muttered. He felt two strong hands at his shoulders, guiding him to shift his body. A moment later, he felt a cold rag against his face and a rolled blanket was tucked under his head.

"Messere Tethras, did the Champion help the apostate?" the man asked.

"New tactic, huh? My answers won't be changing, even if my interrogators do."

"Fair enough, but I've not heard those answers yet, have I?"

Varric slowly raised his hand and pressed the cold cloth against his swollen face. "I wouldn't know if you have or haven't," he said carefully. "Tell you what, you answer a few of mine, and I'll answer a few of yours."

"Okay, I'll play along. Answer mine."

"No, Hawke didn't help Anders. She thought he was making potions, she never saw what he'd created and she didn't know his intentions. Dwarf's honor."

The man chuckled. "Is there such a thing?"

"No, probably not, but when it comes to Hawke, I can tell no lies," he joked. He felt like death, but a part of him rallied at the chance to make someone else believe he was sincere, and not simply holding out based on their bizarre logic he was protecting Anders.

"That's not entirely true, Varric. I've heard you spin a few at the Hanged Man, but maybe you're being honest now," the other man answered. "Your turn, now. What's your question?"

"Who the hell are you people?"

The man sighed. "I can't tell you that," he replied. "But I _can_ tell you this. This is far more than I agreed to. I don't believe the Grand Cleric would have been pleased with taking this route, regardless of our original intentions."

"Which were?" Varric asked, only to have his question met with silence. "Oh, come on, you said you couldn't answer my last question. That makes it still my turn."

"I suppose it does," the other man answered softly. "We wish to understand how things had gone wrong, how we'd so greatly misunderstood the threat of the mages."

"And do you?"

The man was quiet again, and this time Varric tried to sit up. "No, we don't," the man finally said as Varric became upright again. "But I don't believe the Champion did this, despite what some of my colleagues feel. We are no longer in accord, Varric, and I believe that will save your life."

Varric felt his heart skip a beat. "What do you want me to do?"

"Answer Helena's questions as best you can," he answered. "I and several others believe your answers already. We will find a way to end this."

"Ha," Varric snorted, his face stinging with pain as he did. "You nearly had me there, kid, but you're only playing good Templar, bad Templar, aren't you? Alberta's going to be back any second to chase you away, isn't that it? Well, listen up, I'm _not_ lying, and I'm not going to say anything that hurts my friends. Just kill me and get it the fuck over with."

"I will get you out of here, Varric," he replied. "Whether you trust me or not, doesn't change the fact that we _cannot_ kill an innocent man, I won't allow it, and most certainly not in Elthina's name. Answer Helena's questions, don't rile her too much, she's on the edge, and give us a little time."

Varric didn't answer, just sat back heavily on his haunches.

"Sit down, use the blanket roll. I'll get you something to eat and drink."

A few minutes later the man returned, a bowl in one hand and a skin in the other. "Come, I've got some water and a bowl of stew."

"Thank you," Varric said. "So, Templar, how long since you took your vows?"

The man's hands froze as he was passing Varric's bowl, surprise in his eyes. "Not quite a year ago."

Varric nodded, eagerly taking a bite of the stew. "Your turn," he reminded the other man, gravy dribbling down his chin.

"For?"

"Your questions, kid," he replied, swallowing his bite and greedily taking another.

"Did Brother Sebastian know the man…that crazy apostate…did he know he was a mage?"

Varric paused, considering his answer, before quickly realizing that nearly anyone could and would answer this question, so he chose not to lie. "Yes."

The Templar sighed. "Oh."

"Did you work at the Gallows?"

The man nodded. "Yes, at first, but the old knight-commander was…she was very harsh to anyone who didn't treat the mages as she demanded. It was difficult. Knight-Captain Cullen moved those of us who, well, those of us who needed to…"

"Escape? Yeah, I can see that. Cullen's a good man."

"You know him?"

"I do, and I like him," Varric said. "Where'd he move you to?"

"Hightown. He moved a group of us to Hightown," the man whispered. "I lost many friends that day."

"I'm sorry, kid."

The templar nodded again and stood. "Eat, drink and try to wash yourself a bit if you can. I'll get bandages for your face and ear."

"Wash? This is the first water I've had since yesterday, I ain't wasting it on washing, kid."

"Fair enough," he replied. "But you're horribly ripe. Eat, I'll be back soon."

Varric frowned, knowing that after three days of beatings and no bathroom breaks he, of course, probably smelled something akin to a dying broodmother, but he sniffed deeply and nearly gagged at the odor.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. "It's me!"

**xXx**

Sebastian watched his wife return to the group and breathed a quick sigh of relief before refocusing on the older statesmen he'd been conversing with.

He'd seen Calista Donnelly lingering near her, and suspected what the new arlessa was about, making him worry for Lorelai. He knew she was more than savvy enough to see through Calista, but that only ensured Calista would be more aggressive in her pursuit of Lorelai's attention; he could only imagine the tales the hoyden was sharing with his new bride.

A footman arrived with a tray, offering wine to all, and Sebastian used the opportunity to check on Lorelai. He offered his excuses to the men he was with and began to approach Lorelai, only to be startled at whom was lingering by her side.

"Marie," he muttered, equally pleased and nervous at the same time. If she were here, then surely Cameron must be as well? His blue eyes searched the faces near him and he frowned slightly as he realized with disappointment that Cameron was nowhere in sight.

"He's not here," said Marie said quietly, arriving at his side and curtseying. "I hope you will forgive my late arrival, Your Highness, but I did feel quite strongly about attending."

"Marie," he began, looking quickly at Lorelai. She'd been pulled into another conversation, but he saw she was watching his reaction carefully, and, he thought, with hope in her eyes. "Marie, I am very pleased to see you. May I ask after the children?"

Marie smiled gently. "You may, thank you. They are quite well," she replied. "They miss you both."

"And you? You are continuing to feel hearty?"

This brought a small giggle from the pretty wife of his best friend. "Indeed, as hearty as can be."

Meeting her eyes he felt a surge of emotion, and stepped closer so others wouldn't overhear his next words. "You're a kind woman to come."

Marie glanced at Lorelai. "I could hardly leave her alone to these…these harpies on her first day, now could I?"

"And Cam?"

"Cameron's…Cameron. He doesn't know I'm here," she answered honestly, her voice low.

He nodded, his lips in a tight line, and he looked over her shoulder. "I understand. Thank you for considering Lorelai, today, and regardless of what may come, I will not forget this. She needs you."

Marie's smile faltered. "I hope I can be of service to her."

"She needs a _friend_, Marie," he whispered. "Please don't hold my mistakes against her. I have guided our course since we left Kirkwall."

"Sebastian, please understand. I'm doing my best," she pleaded quietly.

"Aye, you are. Thank you."

She nodded and stepped back, allowing Sebastian to greet an approaching group of men she recognized as part of the Antivan ambassador's entourage. With one final glance at her husband's best friend, she returned to Lorelai's side.

**xXx**

Captain Foster jumped to his feet and nearly hurdled his desk. "They did _what_?" he cried as he raced out the door of his office and ran out into the small compound of the village Guard.

He immediately spotted a large group of templars, and realized it was just as his lieutenant had said. Foster ran even faster as the approached the cluster of gleaming metal, a white haired elf restrained in the center of it.

"What in the Maker's holy name are you idiots doing?" he screamed, drawing their collective attention. "Let him go!" he barked as he reached the first templar.

"We bring a prisoner, ser! We stopped this elf from robbing a man!" argued the masked fool.

"No, you pea brained numb-nut! You stopped a _lawman_ from capturing Anders, the wanted mage from Kirkwall!" Foster roared. "Put him _down_! Now! Or Andraste help me, I'll throw every one of you can-heads in my jail!"

"Anders?" asked another templar. "Oh, blimey!"

"Yes! Anders! The man you're restraining is Fenris of the Kirkwall Guard, and he had tracked the mage here! You probably just let the bugger get away! _Move_! Move now or I'll run the lot of you through!"

Slowly the wall of armor parted, revealing Fenris, his face bloodied. Quietly, a templar held out the massive sword Foster had never before seen separated from the elf. Fenris snatched it back.

"Captain Foster," Fenris began. "The apostate was in the market. If we move swiftly, we may still find him," he rasped, spitting a clump of blood from his mouth. "That is, if these lyrium addled imbeciles haven't given him too great a head start. If any are capable of intelligent thought, they should be made to search the village with all due haste!"

Foster turned to the first templar he'd spoken with. "You! Where's your commander? Who's in charge?"

"She's probably at the chantry, ser," sputtered the templar.

"Go get her!" he snarled and then spun around. "Nelson!" he barked, searching out his sergeant. The man sprinted over. "Go with this twat and make sure _you_ do the explaining! Tell her I want them to search the outskirts while we search the village. Do _not_ let her tell you otherwise!"

Foster pushed forward and stood beside Fenris. "You alright?"

"I will be vastly improved if I may complete what I was so close to doing," replied the warrior. "I will need the Guard, ser, for it was, without a doubt, the mage in question. I am returning to the market," he announced, turning and hurrying to the exit of the compound. "His appearance is altered, as we believed. He wears a black cloak. Be swift, Captain."

Foster nodded and turned, signaling to a group of his Guard. "Titus, go round up everyone, and I mean _everyone_, on duty or not. Spread the word and start searching. I'm going with Fenris," he stated. "Make me proud, fellas! Let's find this bastard and get him out of our town!"

**xXx**

Their trip to Hightown had earned them little more information from the innkeeper.

Walter had returned to Darktown, his responsibilities drawing him there. Aveline and Donnic walked silently side by side, both deep in thought.

"So, next stop the Thompson home, yes?" Donnic asked as they entered the markets of Hightown.

"That's the best course of action, don't you think?" Aveline replied, before she heard someone calling for her. She turned around and looked back up the long flight of steps, spotting one of her guardsmen hurrying towards her. "What is it, Quincy?"

"Captain, we need you to return to your office!"

"I'm not available right now, Quincy, I'm working a lead," she replied and began to descend the steps again.

"Captain, please, Seneschal Bran told me you have to come. He said to tell you it's urgent and to drop whatever you're doing," panted Quincy. Aveline glowered, shooting Donnic a look of great annoyance. "I know, ma'am, I told him you wouldn't like it, but he said he didn't care, and for you to get back up to the Keep without delay. I'm sorry, ma'am, don't shoot the messenger."

"That arrogant little prat, I've nearly had it with him," Aveline growled but turned and began to walk back to the Keep, Donnic at her side.

Not too long after, they returned to the headquarters, Bran standing outside her office, his arms crossed over his chest. "Captain, I'm not terribly sure who you've upset now, but the persons in your office are to be treated with the utmost courtesy," he announced as she approached. "None of your heavy handed dealings, do you understand me?"

"Bran," she began, stalking up to him, and leaning over him until their noses nearly touched. "You snotty little peon, if you ever summon me again, I will _show_ you the meaning of heavy handed, do you understand me?"

The man slowly arched an eyebrow, giving one silent but curt nod. "Perfectly."

Aveline turned and opened her office door, immediately spotting two women sitting by her desk. One looked familiar. "Donnic, would you please join me? Bran, go away."

Donnic chuckled lightly and preceded Aveline into the office while Bran huffed and strode away.

"I am Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen, and this is my lieutenant, Donnic," Aveline announced as she entered. "What may I do for you?"

"Aveline, I hope you remember me?" said the red haired woman as she stood to greet them. "I am Leliana, we met last year. You were with the Champion and Brother Vael?"

Aveline nodded. "Yes. You helped us to defeat a large group of rebel mages," she recalled. "Mages bent on a great deal of trouble. It's good to see you again, but I must ask, to what do I owe this visit?"

Leliana nodded. "Allow me to introduce my counterpart," she said, gesturing to the woman next to her. "May I introduce Cassandra Pentaghast, a Seeker of the Chantry."

"Good day, Captain, Lieutenant," Cassandra said, a stiff smile on her face. Aveline studied her briefly. She wore armor, the holy symbol of Andraste emblazoned on the chest plate. Her hair was cropped closely, like a soldier's, but she still managed to be a striking woman. Aveline heard a Nevarren accent in her words.

"Seeker," Aveline said quietly, and then moved to be seated behind her large desk. "I've not met a Seeker, yet, although I have certainly heard my fair share of stories."

Cassandra met Aveline's gaze evenly. "And what is it, Captain, that you have heard?"

"Nothing that makes me terribly pleased to learn you're in Kirkwall," Aveline said flatly. "No offense."

"None taken, Captain," Cassandra replied. "My duty to the Chantry is very similar to your own duty to Kirkwall. I would expect that you yourself have been greeted with much the same…_enthusiasm_?"

"I have, as a matter of fact," Aveline said, a smile in her eyes. "To what do I owe this honor? How can I be of aid to the Chantry?"

"I believe we have something in common, Captain," Leliana began. "Besides, of course, being the 'popular' girls," she quipped. "We both seek a particular dwarf, one who has recently gone missing."

Aveline stood up. "If you know anything of Varric Tethras's whereabouts, I require you tell me, immediately."

"During the course of our investigation, we discovered a small faction, one which we believe may have something to do with your friend's disappearance," Cassandra explained. "A group of young templars, each personally connected to Grand Cleric Elthina, began meeting several months ago, their purpose to investigate the events leading up to, and the murder of the Grand Cleric."

"If our suspicions are correct," Leliana continued, "these naïve youth have overstepped their place, and are acting as vigilantes. It is our belief that they are holding your friend, Varric, in an effort to prove the Champion's involvement in the plot."

"The Champion is a personal friend of mine, Seeker," Aveline said slowly. "It is ridiculous to even consider she participated in such a monstrous crime."

"On that matter, as well as others," replied Cassandra, "we require more information."

"But _that_ is not the matter at hand, now is it? Varric. Do you know where he is?" Donnic demanded.

"Perhaps," Leliana replied. "But before we go any further, we must make a demand of you."

"Which is?" Aveline asked, her tone cold.

"We require that each of you submit yourselves for questioning," Cassandra explained. "It's clear to us that you and several others were key witnesses to the events which led up to the Grand Cleric's assassination and the destruction of the chantry. We will require answers to our questions, the Divine demands it."

"The Divine demands it," Aveline repeated, sighing. "I will not speak for the others, but I am willing to be questioned. I hope it helps you people see that Lorelai was not involved. Now where is Varric?"

"So you agree, Captain, to the questioning?" Cassandra asked.

Aveline nodded. "I do. Now, assuming the Divine doesn't mind us rescuing an innocent man, explain this faction."

Cassandra leaned forward and began her tale.

**xXx**

Dusk was settling in and Marie gazed up at the earliest stars, shining high above her.

The garden party, in Marie's humble estimation, had been a resounding success. The poised, elegant and witty princess had been a far cry from the horrible woman the rumors had described, and that had set many a chin to wagging.

It was apparent that the beautiful lady, so clearly adored by her prince husband, was no madwoman, no heathen bent on destroying the Chantry. This woman was not ten feet tall, nor did she brandish a sword. The one brave man who'd dared to ask her about the Arishok had been politely answered, an answer that came without embellishment or arrogance.

She'd been kind, charming, and knowledgeable of events important to Starkhaven. In short, she'd performed perfectly and had won nearly everyone present over.

Everyone except, of course, Calista Donnelly and her chattering gaggle of back biters, each of which had spent most of the party searching each action or word uttered by Lorelai for errors. In Marie's opinion, Lorelai committed none, but knowing Calista as she did, she knew the conniving woman would find something with which to create discontentment.

"Marie?" asked Lorelai as she reached Marie's side. The guests were all gone, and the staff was now returning the garden to its normal state. "Would you still have a few minutes for us to talk? I know you'll need to return soon."

"I do, of course," Marie answered and Lorelai smiled meekly. Silently, the princess turned and Marie followed, walking through the garden toward the entrance to the family apartments. They passed Sebastian as they departed the garden, and Lorelai stepped close to him, her fingers brushing against his own as she went by.

It was a small touch, but deeply intimate and it struck Marie that it was the first she'd observed between them, something which once realized bothered her greatly. She recalled Cameron's observations after their initial meeting outside of Wycome, his worries that the feelings between his friend and the Champion were one-sided, and she sighed. The gesture she'd just witnessed clearly indicated that was no longer the case, but had Cameron been right at the time?

Perhaps she didn't know Lorelai as well as she'd thought? More questions, she realized, and following Lorelai still, quietly wondered if coming here today was indeed the right thing to do.

The women climbed an elegant staircase which led to a wide hallway and Lorelai opened a door at its end. Marie followed Lorelai into the room, and realized it must be Sebastian's private study.

"It's Seb's office," Lorelai explained. "Well, not his official one, of course, that one is ridiculously large," she prattled nervously. "But it's private, and he promised we'd be left alone here."

Marie nodded. "I've seen the other one, right after Goran's coronation," she replied. "He's not made it orange, has he?"

Lorelai laughed. "No, thank the Maker."

An uneasy lull settled between them, and Lorelai gestured toward the comfortable chairs. "I think the pregnant ladies should relax, don't you?"

"I do, thank you," Marie answered politely. Settled into their chairs, Marie watched Lorelai fidget and decided quickly to get to her point. "Lorelai, I'm still not sure I should even be here, but after everything…and Cameron's hurting so much. Maybe this is a mistake, but I want to understand. Why such deceit?"

Lorelai blinked several times, her lips in a tight line. "You've no idea how big a question that is," she whispered and then sighed heavily. "Cameron was right. The mage who murdered the Grand Cleric, and who knows how many others, was my lover. Please understand, Marie, when he and I met, things were so different, and by the time all of this happened, we'd been together for four years. It wasn't some tryst, I loved him. I thought he was so…well, I believed he was so much better than whom he really was."

"And what was he really?"

"A liar. A masterful, brilliant, manipulative liar who convinced me that he loved me," she answered, her voice steady and devoid of emotion. "In truth, he used me in almost every sense of the word. He used my love for him to control things between us, he used my position to keep the Templars at bay, and he used the trust our friends placed in _me_ to execute his plans."

Marie nodded. "I loved a man before I met Cam, he was no good for me, and only wanted my father's money. I didn't see it, not until I couldn't ignore it anymore and Maker knows I certainly tried. No one thinks of themselves as easily fooled."

"You're kind to tell me that, but my foolishness…it hurt everyone. It makes me sick. I was so stupid, so easily duped. I saw only what I wanted to see, and I fought what my own gut told me, what my friends said," she looked at her and laughed pathetically. "I even argued with Seb, _defending_ Anders. He was trying to protect me, but I wouldn't listen."

Lorelai picked at the seam of the upholstery, chewing her lip for a moment before she continued.

"When Anders destroyed the chantry, he did so without any remorse. We were all together, fire raining down on us. First Enchanter Orsino was screaming and the knight-commander declared the Right of Annulment," she recalled, closing her eyes to it, her voice trembling. "Poor Sebastian was watching his friends and family _burn_ and Anders was just so _unashamed_. How he could speak so calmly, his reasons for what he'd done, as our world was ripping apart at the seams, I still can't understand," she whispered, her green eyes meeting Marie's brown ones. "I just gaped, I was so astonished that the man before me, spewing such unadulterated _hate_, was the same man who had healed so many, who'd made a life with me."

Marie imagined the scene and felt her heart break, realizing what those moments had cost Lorelai and Sebastian. "What did you do then?"

"I killed him."

"What?" Marie asked, shocked by her cold reply.

"I killed him, Marie," Lorelai repeated. "I couldn't trust him, he'd fooled us all so completely, and I for damned sure wasn't going to just let him walk away. I'd helped to create what he'd become, don't you see? Had it not been for me, he'd never have succeeded as he had. My protection, my faith in him…it had facilitated it all. I had to end it. It was my responsibility to stop him."

"Holy Andraste," she muttered. "But you loved him."

"Yes, I did," Lorelai agreed, her voice brutal. "We left his body there, in Lowtown, and we were forced to defend the Circle. Anders had started a war those innocent men and women had wanted no part of, and Knight-Commander Meredith refused to see that. Even her own Templars refused her orders in the end."

"What did Sebastian do?"

"He stayed with me," she answered. "He agreed the mages weren't at fault, and Maker help me, he protected me with his arrows. _Me_! The woman who'd brought so much of this down upon our heads," she said with such sadness that Marie felt tears stinging in her eyes. "He kept me safe, Marie, even when I'd not done the same for those he loved, while his home still burned. I can barely live with that some days."

Marie felt her chin tremble and she drew a long breath to steady herself. "And after?"

"I went home," Lorelai said quietly. "I went home and realized I was pregnant. So now you understand the worst of it all, don't you? It's his, you see, Sebastian is not the father."

Marie sat back in the chair and shook her head, her mind spinning with the horrible truth, but finally understanding the position Lorelai and Sebastian were in. Sitting forward, she held Lorelai's gaze. "That, Lorelai, is the very last time you will _ever_ say those words. Those words die here in this room, do you understand? Never again acknowledge that, no matter what comes."

Lorelai closed her eyes. "And what if _he_ comes?" she asked meekly, tears spilling from her lids.

"Then he dies," answered Sebastian from behind them. He looked at Marie. "I love her, Marie. I couldn't allow her to face this alone. Everything since she learned of the bairn has been my plan, my solution. The contract on her life came after she'd agreed to marry me."

"But what happened to Anders, then? If you killed him, why is the Chantry putting posters everywhere?"

"I don't know," Lorelai replied softly. "The wound I gave him should have ended his life quickly, but we were forced to leave him as he was still bleeding."

"It is apparent that someone offered him aid," Sebastian concluded. "But beyond that, we knew he was alive before the posters. He snuck into Lorelai's estate shortly after, leaving her a sign he wasn't dead."

"Maker, the bastard," Marie cursed, anger at the mage she'd never known taking firm hold. She considered everything they'd revealed and knew if she'd been in either of their shoes, she may very well have made the same choices they had. She looked up at Sebastian. "And all of the things you told us en route, of your plans for Starkhaven…"

"They are all as I said. My duty is clear, Marie. I serve the Maker, I serve my family, and I serve the people of Starkhaven," he vowed. "I was wrong to ever keep the danger of the Coterie silent, and I regret it greatly, but I truly did not believe it was a threat once we'd left their territories."

"Does Anders know of the baby?"

"No," Lorelai answered. "I learned of it after, and I didn't see Anders the night he returned."

"But will he suspect? He of all people would know that you and Sebastian weren't together when you have said you were. He'll know it's orchestrated."

"I do not believe he will come for Lorelai," Sebastian stated. "But should he decide to show his face anywhere within my borders, we are prepared. Samson is a retired templar, and he is charged with ensuring that our Guard is capable of stopping Anders. I intend to rebuild the Circle that was lost here, and that will mean more templars here as well."

Marie arched an eyebrow. "And the Circle here, will it be similar to the one that existed before? The rumors of it, well, they were nothing short of awful."

"No. The mages are not animals, and they will not suffer humiliation and abuse in my lands. I believe Andraste's plan is a sound one, but I do not agree she ever wished them to be subjugated. It has gone too far," he explained. "I intend to explain my interpretation and have the Chantry's agreement on my requirements of basic standards and conduct before I invite them to return here."

"If they refuse?" Lorelai asked.

"We do not need the Chantry to have a Circle," he replied. "The requirements and duties to those with magic are clearly spelled out in the Chant of Light. We know from Samson that other templars may be trained without the Order's aid. I wish for the Chantry to participate, I want their sanction, but I now know it isn't necessary. We must educate mages, we must enable them to protect themselves from demons, from their wicked temptations. We must do better."

Each of them grew quiet, and eventually Marie stood, Sebastian moving quickly to help her to her feet.

"I should go now, it's going to be a horrible enough conversation with my husband as it is, without adding worry to it all," she explained with a small smile. "If I can get him to agree to doing so, would we be able to return, would it be possible for the four of us to repair this?"

"I will call upon Cameron in two day's time, mid-day, if that suits," Sebastian announced.

Marie bit her lip, uncertainty in her eyes. "Can I send word if he's immovable? The political fallout if you were refused, Sebastian, if a rumor should spread, would be…"

"Immense. Aye, I realize this. You must do as you see best, Marie, I would not ask you to do anything that will upset your family. Do not disrupt a happy home to do so."

She nodded and looked at Lorelai, but Sebastian spoke before she could. "I will excuse myself, and allow you both a moment. Marie, I will order your carriage. You have my gratitude."

Quietly, the graceful prince left, and Lorelai stood, walking over to Marie. "I expect you have one last question, don't you?"

"Yes," Marie answered. "Do you love Sebastian?"

Lorelai smiled. "Very much," she whispered, glancing at the door he'd recently closed. "I think part of me always has, we were always very close, he was my dearest friend," she explained. "I just want him to be happy, and I want to help him with all of this. He's bore the brunt of so much pain for me, I want to help him with his, to be strong for him."

Marie stepped in and hugged Lorelai, whose arms quickly wound around her in return. "Then you will," Marie said confidently. "Just love him, and it will come together as it should." She stepped back and smiled warmly. "Now, I'd best go. Cameron's going to go into apoplexy when he asks me about my day."

"Thank you," Lorelai said sincerely.

"Thank you for telling me everything, I know it was hard, and a risk," Marie replied.

"You took your own coming here, today. I'm grateful."

"Yes," Marie answered, smiling nervously, "That's true, I suppose. Do me a favor, just have the guest rooms ready, alright?"

Lorelai laughed weakly, desperately hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Consider it done. Good luck."

With a nod, Marie left the room, and Lorelai sat back down, saying a quick prayer that her friend's boldness wouldn't do her harm.

_**Thank you, Lisa! She worked a double and still made time for this beta, y'all! Beyond amazing, chick!**_

_**I'd like to thank each of you for sharing your thoughts and reviews, for alerting, for adding this to your favorites :D, and for taking the time to read this tale of mine. I'm very grateful, and hope you continue to enjoy my drivel! I'm departing on a three week odyssey across the fantastic USA, and will be writing as often as I can. Have no fear, I'm NOT leaving this story to wait, travels or no...**_


	24. We Get By With A Little Help

**Get By With A Little Help from Our Friends**

Marie scurried into the nursery, having barely made it back from the palace in time to walk to dinner with the children. She warmly greeted her girls, heard a speedy update on the progress of their lessons, as well as their chatter about the day's events, and regained her breath just in time for Cameron to arrive to escort them down.

The girls happily greeted their father, and the family moved to the smaller formal dining room where dinner awaited them. Marie, not having eaten in several hours, was beyond hungry and eagerly tucked into a large helping of roast beef.

Their evening was a typical whirlwind, comprising happy giggles and the girls showering their adoring father with their attention. It was a wonderful thing to watch, but tonight, her back aching, her feet swollen, and her conscience plagued with guilt over outright ignoring her wonderful husband's wishes, the girls' ability to so wholly distract their father felt Maker sent.

All too soon for the girls, and for Marie's guilt, Mrs. Hutchinson arrived with the nanny to see the girls off to their baths and nightly treat, leaving Cameron and Marie alone in the silent dining room.

"You look tired, wife," Cameron observed. "Alluring, but tired."

She smiled at his flirting. "I _am_ tired," she conceded, rising from her chair. "Honestly, I think I'm ready for bed."

"I'm happy tae take you there," he said saucily and helped her from her chair.

Offering her his arm, Cameron slowly walked with her to the ornate front staircase, where she paused at its base. "Maker, it's _so_ much easier going down than it is up," she sighed and then squeaked as her extraordinarily tall husband scooped her up. "Cam!" she exclaimed with a giggle as he smiled down at her.

"What? It's the least I can do, woman," he explained, his words sounding slightly strained from his exertion. "I _am_ the one who gave you the burden yer carryin'. Seems fair for me tae have to take some o' the load."

"So, I'm a load, am I?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow, and trying to restrain her smile.

They reached the top of the stairs and instead of putting her down, he continued down the hallway toward their suite. "Och, my wee wifey, don't waste yer breath, for I willnae be fallin' for yer tricks," he teased. "I'm wise tae yer ways. You are light as air, my beauty, and you'll no' hear me sayin' otherwise!"

She laughed and kissed his neck. Once they reached their suite, she leaned down and opened the doors, which he then carried her through with a flourish. Gently as could be, he lowered her to her feet, but keeping her close to him. He tenderly cradled her face and leaned down, kissing her slowly.

Her insides melted and she poured herself into his arms, her earlier worries nearly forgotten in his kisses…nearly. Her conscience got the better of her desire, and she broke the kiss, causing him to frown. He kissed her again and she stepped away, trying to speak, but couldn't find the words. "Uh, Cam, so, you see," she stammered, wringing her hands as she searched for how to begin what she knew would become a possibly harsh argument.

"What's the matter, beauty?" He watched her for a moment, his confusion obvious on his handsome face, but it was soon replaced with a look of angry realization. "Maker's puckered arsehole, you went to the damned palace, didn't you! Marie!"

"Uh, sort of, okay, yes, I did," she admitted quickly. "But not the _whole_ party and I was _really_ late. Rudely late, one could even say. As a matter of fact, it was nearly over, actually, and I'll bet no one really even saw me there. Well, perhaps maybe not _entirely_ no one, per se, but the Revered Mother had already left, and Baron Giles, he'd gone too! And did you know Baron Giles's wife is expecting? I think that makes their total six, doesn't it?"

He stared at her as if she had grown another head.

"Calista Donnelly was up to her usual tricks, and Maker, you _know_ how she is," she rambled desperately on. "She was wearing the most ludicrous gown, her breasts were barely held in check and she…" she paused, wringing her hands again, and very slowly forced a meek smile. "Arl Donnelly sends his regards, by the way. He looked rather, uh…oh bugger it all, Cam, I'm so sorry, but I _had_ to go, I couldn't leave things like this!"

He turned on his heel and stalked out of their room.

"Oh crap," she gasped and hurried after him. She got out of their room in time to see him round the corner and tried to move faster. "Crap, crap, oh crap, crappity, crap, crap!" she panted, hustling behind him, her large belly impeding her speed. He'd never before walked out on any argument and she felt fear tingle in her chest.

He was at the top of the steps and she watched him again disappear from her sight as he descended and she stopped at the top, leaning on the railing and kicking off her dress shoes so she wouldn't trip. He'd nearly reached the bottom of the flight when he turned to see what was clattering behind him, her shoes still tumbling down the marble.

"Don't ye _dare_ run down these stairs, Marie!" he barked, moving up several stairs at a time towards her.

Hurrying, but clinging to the railing, she continued, closing the gap between them.

"Marie! Stop! You'll tumble!" he ordered, and ran up to meet her. "Go back upstairs, _now_."

"Cam, please, hear me out!" she pleaded, reaching for him but he backed down a step. "Please come back up. I know you're angry, but please try to understand. Please!"

He glared at her, but she saw the genuine hurt in his eyes. "How could ye do such a thing to me?"

She shook her head. "Oh no, Cam, no, I would _never do anything_…I love you, my loyalty is to _you_! I didn't see them to make things worse, I went to help you!" she said pleadingly. "You love him like a brother, and I hate what's happened; I went so I could ask them why. I wanted to make it better!"

He lowered his dark head, backing down another step and looking away from her.

"Cam, I'm sorry," she whispered desperately.

"I'm going tae take a walk," he said softly. "Because right now, Marie, I cannot speak to ye as a husband should speak tae his wife. Go back upstairs," he said firmly and finally looked her in the eye. "_Please_."

"Will you come back soon?" she asked, trying to contain her anxiety.

"I need some air, Marie."

She nodded slowly and turned to work her way back up the stairs, and he watched her until she'd made it safely to the top. Cursing under his breath, he turned and strode out of the house.

**xXx**

Aveline checked her shield and adjusted her grip before turning to address the group of guards gathered behind her.

"It's believed that there are at least ten armed people inside, most of which are Templars," she explained. "But assuming our information is correct, the majority won't raise their weapons against lawmen. Let's try to avoid bloodshed. Our tipster believes this is possible if we don't go in swinging, but I want Messere Tethras protected and removed, that is our main purpose. Alright, everyone ready? Shields up!"

Moving together, the unit of Guard breached the cave and four men broke off to remain at its mouth: Aveline did not wish to be flanked. Two more men, led by Donnic, broke off and entered a narrow passageway. The map they'd obtained from the Seeker indicated it would end in the same large cavern that the main tunnel would lead the rest of to them.

As quietly as heavy armor allowed, they navigated the dimly lit tunnel. A young man rounded a corner, nearly colliding with Aveline, and he gasped but did not raise the alarm. Instead, his color drained and he gaped.

"You are holding a man here," Aveline said quietly. "Where is he?"

"Uh, we, it's just…"

"Cooperate and it will be remembered when charges are levied," she said calmly. "Do not and you will die a criminal. Choose, boy."

The young Templar was trembling, and slowly pointed behind him. "He's in the main chamber, straight that way."

"Are you armed? How many others of you are there?"

"Eleven," he whispered, raising his arms as a guardsman patted his sides, but finding no weapon. "They're not all here though, just me, Helena, Frederick and Dylan are here."

"Will any of them fight us?"

He nodded. "Helena will, and Dylan may defend her, but not if he knows you're Guard. Frederick won't, he's been trying to help the dwarf."

Aveline pointed behind her. "There are four of my men at the entrance to the cave. Declare yourself to them and surrender. You are under arrest for kidnapping, and Maker knows what else."

The templar nodded, his features grim. "We warned Helena," he said sadly. "This isn't what any of us wanted, you've got to believe me!"

"Wilson, make sure he gets to Harvey, then return here. Move swiftly," Aveline ordered. "I want to take the chamber without delay, Donnic and his men will be there soon!"

Wilson grasped the templar's shoulder and they left, returning the way they'd come. A few short minutes later, Wilson returned, silently falling back into line.

"Let's move," Aveline said, and again they proceeded up the tunnel. Natural light could soon be seen, and they reached the end of the main tunnel. Peering around the edge, Aveline searched the room. Varric was there in the center, and it was obvious he was badly injured.

Anger boiled in her veins but she remained calm, noting that only one other person within the chamber was the woman the young templar had identified as Helena. Aveline scanned the whole of the wide space, whispering details of it to the men waiting behind her.

A glint of reflected light bounced off her shield, signaling that Donnic and his men had reached the chamber as well. Aveline stepped out into the room.

"I am Guard-Captain Vallen! You will put down any weapons and remain as you are!" she announced loudly.

Helena leapt from her seat, startled, and grabbed a sword off the ground. "Hold! I'm a templar! This man is my prisoner!"

"That _man_ was unlawfully taken from _my_ city," Aveline countered. "As a dwarf, he clearly is no mage, and you've greatly overstepped your authority, Templar! Lower your weapon or we _will_ disarm you ourselves!"

Varric was struggling to his feet, and Aveline's eyes darted to her friend. His face was so bloody and swollen she barely recognized him. He was obviously in very bad straits. "Messere Tethras! Are you alright?"

"Don't speak to him! He's my prisoner! He's a conspirator of the apostate Anders!"

Aveline advanced, her group behind her spreading throughout the chamber. Donnic and his men did the same. "This cave is a far cry from a chantry, or a jail. You've no authority over a citizen of Kirkwall. You have until the count of three to drop your sword!"

"He is guilty of helping with the most heinous of crimes!"

"One!"

"His hands are dripping in the Grand Cleric's blood!" Helena screeched as she stalked towards Varric. "He should…"

"Two! Men at the ready!"

Helena brought her sword high. "Pay!"

"Three!" Aveline yelled, but before the count was finished, Helena had dropped to the floor, a blade lodged in the back of her neck. Aveline looked in the direction it had been thrown from, and saw that Donnic was responsible.

Her husband shrugged. "You were _nearly_ there, and I got antsy at two and a half," he said in his defense.

She shook her head and smiled weakly, releasing a pent-up breath. "Well done," she said and hurried to Varric. Donnic knelt and checked his handiwork.

"She's dead," he declared. "Stupid cow."

"Varric! How bad are you?" Aveline asked with worry, putting her shield down and sheathing her sword.

"Not as bad as I smell, I think. Aveline, you tall drink of armor clad goodness, I am tickled pink to see you!" the dwarf rasped. "Now what in the hell took you so damned long?"

Aveline laughed in relief, grateful to see that under the abuse, Varric was still Varric.

Donnic's booming laugh echoed in the chamber. "You're lucky, Varric. If it hadn't been for Merrill, we'd only now be starting our search for you."

"Well, Maker bless her pretty pointy ears, that elf is full of surprises," Varric muttered.

"Yes, she came banging in the middle of the night," Aveline explained. "She'd worked herself into a real froth about it; she'd hounded Nora, Walter, in fact, she even made Penny send out runners."

"Really? Huh, I think I may just kiss her!"

"Not until after a bath, mate," Donnic chuckled. He gestured to the guard who'd carried in a stretcher. "Put it beside him," he ordered and then looked back at Varric. "You, my friend, _for_ _once_ are not exaggerating! You smell worse than a half rotten dead…"

"Yeah, yeah," Varric interrupted. "Tell me something we don't already know!"

"Alright," Aveline began. "We're very glad to see you, dear man."

Varric nodded slowly, lowering himself onto the stretcher. "Thanks, Red," he said softly. "Same here."

Aveline smiled and issued orders to a portion of the Guard: some would remain until the Seeker and her aides could arrive. Donnic advised Aveline that the other two templars, Frederick and Dylan, had surrendered and were with the men at the head of the cave. The rest of the group prepared for the slow walk back to Kirkwall.

Donnic picked up Bianca and Varric's pack, following them out of the cave. "Varric?" he began, walking next to the stretcher, carried by two of Aveline's men. "Walter said you took off after a lead on the man from Starkhaven."

"Yeah, and that's a whole another bag of beans," the rogue grunted. "My gut was right, as usual. That guy's not the one we know is working for Avery. But these twits jumped me before I could follow up."

"So there's more fun ahead for all, eh?" Donnic asked sarcastically.

"Isn't there always? Try to think of it as a party, but with death, stitches, and no beer."

Donnic laughed and Aveline grinned. "Come on, Dwarf, let's get you home."

**xXx**

The full moon illuminated most of their suite and Cameron silently sat in a large stuffed chair.

She'd been asleep when he'd returned, and the candle she'd left lit for him had sputtered out not long after. She was sleeping on his side of the bed, something he normally would have found endearing, but right now it made her choice all the more hurtful.

He was no longer angry, in fact, he wasn't sure he was ever _truly_ angry with her to begin with. Shocked was a better way to describe it, shocked and completely unsure of so many things all at once.

She had never, in their years together, lied to him. She'd never manipulated or tried to push him into something he wasn't willing to do. They'd always made their decisions together, equally and with discussion.

He'd seen so many marriages around them that were more a power struggle than a love story, but that had never been theirs. She was his most trusted friend, the only person he'd ever known with whom he could share himself completely.

And yet today she'd acted entirely on her own.

She had to have known he'd be furious, or at least that it was likely. Sebastian's lies had placed their children at risk, had endangered their home, their staff…but she'd still disregarded Cameron's wishes and accepted what he'd seen as a purely politically motivated invitation to the palace.

After all, he thought, if Sebastian had wanted them to attend by personal preference, surely he would have made some sort of effort, done _something,_ to indicate he'd wished to reconcile their rift.

Except, of course, he reluctantly reminded himself, that he'd rather unceremoniously thrown the man and his expecting wife out onto the street. With a frown, he realized that Sebastian, after _that_ particular little humiliation, couldn't very well predict Cameron would even welcome such an effort from him.

And given the still tenuous situation the new ruler of Starkhaven was in, perhaps _wishing_ to reconcile their rift was all it was within Sebastian's power to do. Maybe he - though greatly wronged and fully within his rights to sever their friendship - was the only one with the luxury of restoring it.

And maybe, just maybe, Marie had seen that.

"Bollocks, she's bloody right," he sighed, stretching his long muscular legs out in front of him and resting his head on the back of the chair. It was not something he enjoyed, having the angry wind taken from his self-righteous sails.

"Marie," he said gently, watching her stir. "Woman, wake up," he said a slightly louder voice.

She rolled from her side to her back and rubbed her eyes, before she scrambled to sit upright and wobbled. Planting a hand on the mattress, she looked around the room. "Cam!" she exclaimed and hurried from the bed.

"Aye," he answered and pulled her onto his lap. "Marie, let me start by saying, no matter yer motivation, going there today when I asked ye no' to hurts me. I know ye had a hope of looking after me, but doing so behind my back is no' something I will _ever_ be right with. Do ye understand?"

Her arms wound around his neck and she nodded. "I do, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

"I know." He cradled her close and rubbed her back in slow circles. "How was it?" he asked casually.

"Modest," she answered quietly. "They hosted it in the family's private garden, you know, the one in the courtyard?"

He grunted. "A good plan, that's an intimate place. The guests?"

"Donnelly, Griffin, the MacDonalds, the Campbells, as well as the Kincaids," she said. "Also, most of the Merchant's Guild board, and the Antivan ambassador, oh, and the Revered Mother; Seb listened to your advice on the strongest allies. He chose a small but powerful group."

"And Baron Giles," he reminded her, referring to their previous conversation. "And to answer yer earlier question, that's their _seventh_ bairn."

"Maker, that's a goodly number of babies," she giggled. "And for the record, we're _not_ having seven. Six is my limit."

He chuckled and felt the tension in her muscles relax. "Did you speak with them?" he asked.

She nodded, pushing up so she could see his face. "I did. Calista was trying to cow Lorelai, so I ran her off. I really can't stand that woman," she said. "Sebastian pulled me aside to thank me, and he asked after you and the girls. He was sincere."

"Was that everything?"

"No, Lorelai invited me to stay after, and she and I spoke in Seb's private office."

"And?"

She ran her fingers through his hair, toying with it at the base of his neck. "Your information from Kirkwall wasn't wrong," she began. "I don't like how they handled things, not in the least, but I understand now why things happened as they did. They've both been through a great deal more than we knew."

"We'd have known if they'd _told_ us," he pointed out sourly. The clock in the room chimed one and he stretched, holding onto her as he did. "I'm tired, wife. Let's go tae bed."

Quietly she stood and climbed onto the soft mattress, tossing pillows in a pile as she moved to the middle. She settled down and he helped arrange her pillows under her belly before pulling off his shirt and climbing in behind her.

Pulling himself close to her, he considered what she'd shared and compared it to what his man in Kirkwall had known.

He reflected on everything that had occurred between him and Sebastian, from the time they'd first arrived in Wycome, to the hours and hours of strategizing and planning for the future of Starkhaven. But as he recalled his memories, his mind kept returning to the day Goran had arrived unexpectedly.

Sebastian had been so upset with Lorelai for staying at his side. When he'd arrived at Cameron's office that evening, he'd been worried, confused and clearly needing to talk but refused. Instead, Sebastian had quizzed him about Marie's reaction to her first pregnancy before launching into a defense of his marriage and the mother Lorelai would come to be.

"Marie?" he whispered, needing to ask her what he feared he already knew.

"Hmm?"

"The baby belongs tae that lunatic mage, doesn't it?"

She sighed in his arms. "Yes, it does."

"Bollocks," he said softly and then sighed heavily. "Alright, I'll go over in the morning."

**xXx**

The sun was setting and Fenris drew a steadying breath, his fury at today's defeat hot in his chest.

Captain Foster was at the far end of the clearing they were in, the templars and village Guard receiving their final instructions from him. Fenris watched dispassionately as the groups turned and moved back down the path they'd carved through the brush.

Anders was gone.

Again, Fenris inhaled slowly, his nostrils tight with the effort to restrain his extraordinary frustration.

Foster turned and crossed to him, his features drawn, and fatigue apparent in his body language. He stopped a few feet from Fenris and sighed. "Fenris, I'm sorry."

The elf nodded, his shoulders tense and his hands fisted at his sides. "You have my gratitude, Captain Foster."

"Those idiots cost us a lot, I want you to know I'll be tearing their commander a new arsehole when we return to town."

"Indeed."

"You realize that I can't take my men any farther," Foster said, regret in his voice. "We're already beyond the boundaries of my jurisdiction."

"I understand fully, Captain. I am grateful for your aid."

Foster snorted. "Some 'aid'," he growled. "I'm so pissed I could barely keep from knocking those nitwits out. How dare they interfere!"

"They believed they were performing a good deed."

"Nah, they're a bunch of ignorant bigots who jumped to conclusions," the captain snapped. "Not to mention they stepped all over _my_ toes. They had no right to get involved."

Fenris nodded. "You have my thanks, Captain. You are a man of honor, Kirkwall is in your debt."

"Hardly, but you're kind to say so," he replied. "Listen, I know you've got to keep on the hunt, but can I do anything else? If I didn't think my wife would kill me, I'd go along, help you catch this son-of-a-bitch."

The warrior felt a smile tug at his lips. "Thank you. Would you be willing to send word to Captain Vallen and advise her of these events? It would save me considerable time."

"Seems the least I can do, Fenris," he agreed. He offered his hand.

Fenris glanced at it and accepted, shaking it firmly. "Thank you."

"Good luck, Fenris. Maker watch over you."

Fenris bowed slightly and turned, moving to the tree line.

"Oh, and Fenris?" Foster called after him.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Good hunting."

Fenris turned and stepped into the dense wood, disappearing from Foster's sight.

**xXx**

Anders stared up at the night sky, his chest aching in pain.

Despite four attempts, the wound on his chest had resisted healing properly, almost as if it was cursed. Fenris's hand print would forever be a mark on him, and a twisted part of him considered the irony of being branded by the ex-slave.

He'd run from the village, leaving the tiny hamlet behind him as fast as his legs could carry him. He'd run until he'd cramped in agony, and then ran farther, until he'd collapsed in a remote wood. He had no real idea of where he was, but he'd finally risked using magic to address his injury, and had been relieved that no templar had leapt out from behind a tree.

He lit no fire and knew he could only rest for a brief period; he might be safe, but he now knew his safety was fleeting.

He watched the clouds cluster around the moon, the sinister shadows it created fitting his mood. Today had shaken him to his core. Fenris wanting him dead was far more threatening than having the entire Chantry after him.

Fenris was many things, but he was not a liar. Lorelai had not sent her faithful warrior searching for Anders, of that much he was certain. He was less certain why he felt disappointment at this, rather than relief.

Regardless of why Fenris was tracking him, Anders had no doubt the elf would not relent. There would be absolutely nothing that Anders would be able to do to stop him; not unless he killed him, and, to his own surprise, he had no wish to do so.

That thought staggered him, considering Fenris had clearly intended to end his life today in the market. He touched his fingers to the edges of the throbbing burn on his chest and realized that perhaps, after everything, he knew very little about himself.

Without Justice to occupy and influence him, he'd expected to feel more like his old self, but instead of gaining control of his moods, he'd grown even more erratic. His desires leapt from one thought to the next, his wishes and concerns inconsistent from one moment to the next.

But was this a result of their joining or of the end their connection?

He'd spent seven years sharing his soul with a spirit, seven years in a perpetual tug-of-war that by the end, made it nearly impossible to distinguish between him and Justice at all.

He'd not lied to Lorelai as the chantry had burned; in Anders's mind there'd been no difference between where he ended and Justice began. He'd wanted nothing more than to die in Kirkwall, but today, when he had so much less to live for, his instinct had been to preserve his life.

He glanced at his wine flask and reached for it, taking a long drink. Reflecting on his last words to her in Kirkwall that day, he'd not been surprised that she'd agreed he should die for his crime.

He felt his heart race as that idea formed, and he knew that somewhere deep inside him, he'd stumbled onto a small truth. Had he counted on her, on who she was, to end his life? Had he subconsciously hoped she would end his misery, trapped as he was with Justice's overwhelming dominance?

What had Justice done to him?

Had Anders forced Lorelai to kill him? Had he become so twisted under Justice's occupation that he'd committed his crime so that someone would _have_ end his life? Whose oppression had he truly sought to end that day? He blanched at the understanding of it all, his gut twisting in guilt.

"Maker help me, am I going mad?" he whispered, thinking of all the damage done and his own part in it.

But as easily as his despair had slowed him, he felt a rush of purpose replace it. He needed to move, he needed to act. Fenris was out there, and thinking was not going to help him put more distance between them.

He didn't have the time to worry about the past; he needed to go, to protect his own life so that he would be ready to protect his child's. Now, he knew, was a time of action. He was going to the Imperium, he was going to succeed, to show the world what a free mage could be.

He was going to be the man he had lost to Justice.

_**Thank you, Lisa! You are so ridiculously fantastic, as is your international banana calling plan, thanks for helping with allllll those miles!**_

_**Thank you to each of you for your reviews, for your decision to follow, for favoriting and your support. This chapter took three states, one Dramamine, a Cracker Barrel and 1300 miles to write. Enjoy! **_


	25. Steady As She Goes

**Steady As She Goes**

It was only midday and Sebastian was already weary.

He'd spent a great deal of his morning wading through ledgers and reports from the lead treasury officer, and, to his great concern, not all aligned with the picture painted by the council assembled by Goran.

The numbers didn't add up. Though consistently and carefully hidden, he knew large sums were missing; he was grateful that he'd taken such care to review each ledger. The difficulty now, however, was knowing where the deception lay.

His confidence lay in the integrity of the man who had performed his duties without discrepancy or error over the last thirty-four years. He found it very hard to believe that the officer was responsible, and his faith was bolstered by the fact the ledgers from the treasury contained the debits. It was disappointing, but not shocking, to see these same debits had been left off of the ledgers originally provided to him by Goran's council.

Ultimately he needed the answers to two critical questions: who on the council needed these deductions hidden, and why?

He laid the two massive books side-by-side and slid his finger down the duplicate columns; there was little doubt that an effort was being made to keep these mysterious debits from his knowledge. With a heavy sigh, he reclined in his chair and closed his eyes.

The flurry of activity, the emotion of his and Lorelai's forced move, the circumstances of which, engulfing them fully into life within the palace, had left him feeling worn and deflated. His marriage, his love for his wife now equally returned, had been a ray of light in his darkening perspective. But the reality of the complex and duplicitous work of protecting her while navigating the court without his closest ally had lowered his spirits.

_Spirit,_ he thought and turned to look out the window. It was a beautiful day, the sun nearing its peak in the sky and the tree branches bouncing gently in the breeze. Understanding exactly what he was missing, he stood and left his office.

"I will be in the family chapel," he informed the secretary as he passed.

"Yes, Your Highness. You should know that Baron Kerrigan was granted an audience, it is to begin in a few minutes."

"Please extend my apologies to the baron," Sebastian replied. "Inform him he will be the given the first audience in the morning."

"Yes, ser, I shall."

"Thank you," he said and left for the chapel.

**xXx**

Varric stared at the rotting ceiling over his bed and groaned as he sat up.

There were very few mages left anywhere in Kirkwall, but between the jumpy old man Donnic knew, and Merrill's rudimentary healing skills, he was now mostly patched up. Gingerly he raised a hand to his cheek, wincing at the deep bruising still there.

"You're not supposed to touch it, you know."

Varric glanced up and noticing that Merrill was standing in the doorway, he chuckled. "Mornin' Daisy. I know I'm not, I was just checking your handiwork, that's all."

She looked nervous. "Well, just remember that I warned you I'm still quite new at healing."

He arched an eyebrow. "Daisy, I haven't _seen_ your handiwork. Is there something you're not telling me?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Varric, nothing like that! Your nose is still where it was before, and your ear is too. At least, _now_ it is. To be honest, I healed it a bit crooked. _I_ thought it gave you character, but that other mage, Orlando, he insisted he correct it, more's the pity."

"Ah," he grunted, planting feet on the floor. "Well, thanks either way. So, why are we at Fenris's?"

"Oh, well, Aveline wanted you close by," she explained. "But her place was too small for you to be comfortable, especially since we didn't know how soon you'd be up and at it again. Plus, this place is still loaded with Fenris's booby traps, so Donnic re-armed them and was able to secure the place quickly."

"There some reason I need securing?"

"You mean besides the band of rogue Templars who kidnapped and tortured you?" she asked sweetly. "No, I can't think of anything else. Except…"

"Except what?"

Merrill wandered around the room for a quiet moment, her back to him. "Never mind, Aveline will skin me for telling you before she does. You know how she can be."

His curiosity piqued, he smiled slowly. "Yeah, that Aveline can be a real tough cookie, can't she?"

"She can be, but she's got a good heart. She's only ornery because she's looking after us, you know."

"Yup, that's true. Although, considering that, I don't think she'd be too mad."

"About what?"

"What you were going to tell me. What is it, anyway?"

"Oh, about Cassandra? I don't know, Varric, I think she'd be very unhappy if I…oh, blast it! You naughty dwarf! Stop it!" she scolded. "That's not fair! You'll get me into trouble and you know it!"

He couldn't help but laugh, holding his hands up. "Okay, okay, you got me!" he chuckled. "Sorry, but you can't blame a guy for trying."

She crossed her arms and scowled.

"Hey, now, don't be too mad at me," he pleaded. "I can't properly thank you for saving my life if you're giving me the hairy eyeball."

She frowned but relaxed her stance. "I was worried, it's not like you to miss your schedule."

"Well, if you hadn't been so pushy, I'm not sure I'd be here," he confessed. "I owe you big, Daisy."

She walked over and sat beside him. "No you don't, Varric," she said softly. "May I tell you something?"

He nodded.

"My clan, they broke my heart, you know," she whispered sadly. "It took me a very long time to understand it, but once I did, I also understood that I had a new clan, one that had taken me in when I wasn't even looking. I promised myself then, that I'd do my very best to care for it."

"Aw, Daisy," he began but she shushed him.

"No, let me finish," she said. "I know we're scattered to the four winds, what with Anders, Fenris, Sebastian and Hawke all off, but we're still a family. We're still _us_. So, no, you don't owe me a thing, Varric. I'm just glad you're okay."

He sighed, moved by her words and keenly aware of just how deeply he felt the same way. "Okay, Daisy," he replied, his voice gruff with emotion. "And thanks, it's an honor to know you think of us as your clan."

She placed a quick kiss to his cheek and he smiled slyly, each quiet for a moment.

"You know," he began, "clan members shouldn't keep things from one another, it's bad for family harmony, wouldn't you agree? Now, tell me what Aveline is…"

Her snort of giggles interrupted him. "You're _evil_, Varric," she said with a laugh and, standing, went to fetch Aveline.

**xXx**

Not long after Sebastian's departure, Baron Kerrigan and his entourage arrived. Sebastian's secretary leapt to his feet, bowing slightly as he greeted the noble.

"My lord, good day. My apologies, ser, but His Highness is no longer available, and has asked me to apologize. He regrets the change, and has granted you the favor of meeting with him first thing tomorrow morning."

The short man, who was young, blond, and very brightly dressed, arched an eyebrow. "No longer available? I assume that something of critical concern has occurred, then? Something terribly urgent?"

The secretary did not answer but asked his own question. "May I tell the Prince to expect you in the morning?"

The noble gave the secretary a sly look. "You may. Now pray, tell me, what has kept our new prince from our appointment?"

"It's not my place to disclose the Prince's private affairs, my lord," the secretary replied, matching the bann's look with his own direct gaze.

"And it's no' yer place to be asking," said a voice from behind the group, and Lord Kerrigan turned.

"Ah, Lord Avery, a pleasure, ser," the secretary said with sincerity. "It's been some time, ser."

"Henry, good to see you," Cameron answered with a smile before he turned his attention back to Kerrigan.

"Cameron, how are you?" Kerrigan inquired. "And no' my place, ye say? Is it no' our prince's place to serve his people? Last I looked, I was one o' his people. I wish to have an answer, that's all."

"Should he _elect_ to provide one, then you shall have it," Cameron replied before slinging his arm over the other bann's shoulders and leaning down, his voice low. "Arthur, I like ye, I always have. Yer a decent sort o' man, ye play cards moderately well, and don't cheat too often, and ye drink like ye have a few hairs on yer balls."

"Thank ye, Cameron, I think."

"So, being the giving sort that I am, and wishin' to help ye along, I'll give ye a bit o' friendly advice, before you make a terrible mistake and wholly annoy yer betters."

Kerrigan snorted but looked up expectantly at the tall man.

"This prince is a wee different than our previous one," Cameron advised. "Unlike Goran, he's no' interested in being led, rather, he plans to do the leading. As a matter of fact, he already declined the nose ring so graciously offered by Goran's council."

"Meaning?" Kerrigan asked, smiling slightly.

"Meaning ye shouldn't expect Sebastian to act the part of a servant: he's a _prince, _pal," Cameron said, emphasizing the title. "And unlike Goran, he was reared to this. He requires service, loyalty and a sense of duty to be what motivates ye, not power and ego," he explained. "He will demand your respect, but I promise ye, he'll _earn_ it. The days of brash and tacky self-service are over. We're all going to have to dust off our honor and integrity, and put back on our big boy pants."

Kerrigan chuckled. "If _that's_ true, there's going to be a real shake up of things around here," he speculated. "Not that I'll be sorry for it, mind, it'll be a nice thing to no' match the bloody wallpaper," he joked, glancing down at his clothes. "I think I may even still have a pair 'big boy pants' somewhere in my bureau."

"Then put 'em on, my friend! Better days are coming!" Cameron said with a slap to Kerrigan's back.

Kerrigan laughed and shook Cameron's hand. "Good to see you, Cameron. Give my best to Marie," he said and turned to the secretary, Henry. "I shall see His Highness tomorrow morning, thank you."

The lord and his entourage left the outer office, leaving Cameron and Henry alone.

"May I see him?" Cameron asked quietly.

"You'll find him in the chapel, my lord."

"Thank you."

**xXx**

Cameron slowly opened the door of the small chapel. It was situated in yet another elaborate garden, just off the private apartments of the royal family.

He'd only visited it a few times, but it was a place he always enjoyed, for unlike the larger, more ornate places of worship inside the palace, this one was simple, its purpose unobstructed by the chaos of politics. Its unadorned walls and humble shrine was all that many of the faithful Vaels had required.

The family had been sending the second or third son to the Chantry for generations, a sacrifice made by each royal household in an effort to humbly recall their first priority, the will of the Maker.

He could still remember the day when Sebastian had truly understood that _he_ would be that sacrificial son. He'd greeted that understanding with such anger and outrage, and their debauchery had begun in earnest not too long after.

Now, that same friend was kneeling at the front, quietly repeating part of the Chant.

Cameron sat silently at the rear, whispering a few sincere prayers of his own, until Sebastian finished and rose. Cameron stood and met Sebastian's shocked blue eyes.

The prince approached and walked up the length of the pew just in front of the row Cameron had been seated in. "Cam," he said quietly. "It's very good to see ye."

"Seb, I didn't mean to disturb yer prayers," he replied.

"No, not at all," Sebastian said sincerely.

Neither knew how to begin, so both men sighed and lapsed into silence. Sebastian finally sat down, seated sideways, and Cameron reclaimed his seat.

"How's Marie?"

"She's fine, and we're still speaking, if that's what yer really asking," he said.

"She was brave and gracious for coming, Cam," Sebastian said boldly. "I know ye must have been upset with her for attending…"

"I don't think ye can know _how_ I felt about _that_," Cameron interrupted harshly.

Sebastian drew back but didn't respond with anger. "No, I suppose I don't. I'm grateful to her, all the same, Cam. I hope ye can understand that."

Cameron frowned. "I can. As a matter of fact, I can understand quite _a lot_, and, it seems to me, that if ye'd have trusted _that_ to start with, none of this would have happened. Is there some reason ye didn't think I'd keep yer faith, man?"

Sebastian looked quietly away, his eyes on the altar. "The truth of it all is quite a burden, pal," he answered softly.

"Burdens are more easily carried when others take a bit of the load."

The prince sighed and nodded. "Did Marie tell you all of it?"

"Nay, she only told me her thoughts on their discussion and answered my question. I think she's hopin' that since I was willing to come today, that I'll ask my own."

"And will ye?"

Cameron scrubbed his face and sat forward. "Aye, but I've only a few."

"I'll answer them."

"Is she truly innocent? Or did she help that bastard?"

"She's innocent. Lorelai had nothing to do with Anders's plan," Sebastian said with quiet conviction. "I'm not a naïve choir boy who's easily fooled. I loved her even then, aye, but loving her wouldn't have kept me from doing my duty to Elthina, or to the Chantry."

"Does she love ye, pal? Does she at least see what yer doin' for her and this bairn?"

"She does, and she always has. She refused me at first, she didn't want me to be unhappy, to burden me, but I pushed her into the marriage," Sebastian replied. "Our love is still new, but it's shared now and it's everything I wanted."

Cameron met his friend's gaze and nodded. "Then it's a blessing, pal, and I'll be happy for ye."

"Thank you."

"But what of this mage? Are there plans for dealin' with him?"

"There are, good ones."

Cameron sighed and again each man became quiet.

"I'm sorry, Cameron. I'm sorry for not telling you about the contract."

"My lassies, Sebastian!" Cameron hissed in a sharp tone, and, glancing around, lowered his voice. "Andraste's bouncing tits, pal, ye had no right to keep such a thing from me!"

"I know," Sebastian replied humbly. "I didn't consider the contract a threat, not once we were so far from Kirkwall, I swear it to ye. I still don't, but it doesn't excuse my choice."

"Not in the damned least," Cameron snapped and then shook his head, forcing himself to even his tone. "I cannae tell ye how furious I am with ye over this. I _want_ to help, Seb, I _want_ to understand, to be the friend I've always been, but Maker help me, I still want to beat ye bloody over this!"

Sebastian nodded slowly.

Cameron flopped back against the wooden pew. "I don't want to feel this way, and seein' that I already whipped yer naked arse once…" he sighed, looking out of the small stained glass window, before his eyes narrowed and returned to Seb's aqua orbs. "But I swear to ye, if ye _ever_ compromise my family's safety again, Seb, ever..."

"I won't," Sebastian vowed.

"Good."

Sebastian shifted and faced the altar, and Cameron leaned forward, placing his elbows on the back of the pew. Each was quiet, reflecting on the events leading up to their strife.

"So," Cameron began, forcing a casual tone, "ye married a woman who didn't love ye to save her from a lunatic. Ballsy move for a Chantry boy, 'specially one who hits like my gran."

"That about sums it up, aye," Sebastian chuckled, looking back at his friend. "Yer gran? Really? I was fairly certain I'd split yer lip, pal."

Cameron snorted. "A glancing blow, nothin' for ye to crow about," he scoffed with a small grin. "Alright, ye married her, she's expectin', and there's people wishing her dead. I'm guessing these same people think she helped the mage?"

"Aye."

"And he's the da."

The blue-eyed man's shoulders slumped slightly. "Aye."

"How many others know this?"

"Only a very few close friends in Kirkwall, five in all; each loves Lorelai dearly and will no' betray us. You're already familiar with one of them, Varric Tethras."

"Is that the fellow who wrote to me in Wycome?" Cameron asked. "He's a good sort; I've kept contact with him. Speaking of which, just so it's said, I learned what I did about the events in Kirkwall because I needed to understand what political mud could be slung, I was _not_ snooping into yer business."

"I understand, Cam. I should have been honest from the beginning, but I needed to protect Lorelai."

"From me? You needed to protect her from _me_?" he asked, his voice betraying his hurt.

"I promised her no one would know, and ye have to admit that this information would destroy everything. The less who know, the safer we are," Sebastian explained evenly. "Ye see the way people look at her, how they watch her. Maker, your own reaction when Marie guessed she was Champion was…"

"Aye, I know, pal, I know," Cameron sighed. "Bollocks, I suppose I can see why ye didn't think ye could tell me. I'm sorry."

"As am I."

"Alright, we're both sorry, let's not beat it to death," Cameron said sourly. "I hate being wrong," he grumbled.

Sebastian smiled softly.

Blowing out a hard breath, Cameron reclined on the pew. "Well, now tha' we've made nice, let's act as real men should an' pretend this never happened, agreed?"

"Agreed," Sebastian answered, extending his hand which Cameron quickly shook.

"So, how goes the 'prince-ing'? Is it as easy as it looks?"

Sebastian laughed, his anxiety leaving him. "The council's ledgers are falsified."

"Are they now? Staggering, that bit o' news," Cameron replied sarcastically. He grew serious. "How bad is it?"

"My estimation has it at nearly seventy-thousand sovereigns over at least the last four years."

Cameron let out a low whistle. "That'll buy a bauble or two."

"Aye, that it will," the prince agreed. "I'll need to find it, and who's spending it."

"And don't forget the why of it," added Cameron.

"I could use yer help."

"Aye, ye could. Guess ye'd better be askin' me for it, then."

Sebastian snorted and smiled. "Ye, my good man, are a complete and utter arse."

"Well, that's true, but I'm worth the trouble, or so Marie tells me," replied the tall man with a genuine smile of his own.

"Keep believing that, if ye like, Cam, I never was one to disturb a happy home," laughed the prince as he stood. His grin slipped as his voice lowered. "I'm grateful that ye came, Cameron, truly. I would have come to ye myself, if I could have."

Cameron joined Sebastian on his feet. "Aye, I know, pal. Come on, let's have a look at those books and see who's had their hand in the biscuit barrel."

Without further discussion, the men left the chapel as friends.

**xXx**

"You want me to do _what?"_ Varric barked at Aveline, who was seated across from him at the single table in Fenris's mansion. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Varric, she helped us, she gave us your location," the tall red-head argued.

"Yeah, she told you where her loony templars were holding me _after_ you agreed to this crap! She's a regular old Andraste, we should all fall at her damned feet!"

"Varric," Aveline growled. "We've nothing to hide."

"Bullshit! There's a lot to hide, Aveline! I'm not going to go sit and have tea with an investigator from the Chantry! No way!"

"This is _not_ something should avoid. If the Chantry believes in any way that Hawke had something to do with the attack on the chantry then this is our chance to set them straight!"

"Or it's their chance to needle information out of Hawke's most trusted confidants!" the dwarf snapped. "You've led interrogations, Aveline! You know how these things work! Ask a few small and seemingly unimportant questions between the big ones and you can learn quite a lot!" he pushed back from the table and slowly stood.

"Hawke trusts us, there's no way we can sit down with this woman and have any real idea of what we are or aren't revealing," he explained reasonably as he crossed the room. He sat heavily onto the bed, reaching for the cold cloth that hung from the bedpost. "She's got way too much at stake."

Aveline sighed. "I've already given my statement, and I assure you, I revealed nothing that I shouldn't have."

He snorted. "That's what you're supposed to think, Red."

Donnic, who'd been in the kitchen with Merrill, entered the room, the small blood mage following behind him. Stopping short, he looked between his wife and his friend.

"I see you've told him," the handsome guard stated.

"She has," Varric said.

"And I'm guessing he's refusing?" Donnic asked Aveline.

"He is," she confirmed, her eyes narrowed as she stared down the dwarf.

Donnic turned to Merrill. "You owe me three copper."

"Bugger it," Merrill whispered, pulling the small coins from her pouch. "When will I learn to not bet against you?"

"Wait, you bet Varric would refuse?" Aveline demanded, watching her husband pocket his winnings. "Of all the…"

Donnic winked at her. "I did tell you I thought he might," he reminded her. "Merrill was certain he'd do as he was told, as she put it, and so we had a bet."

"So you agree I shouldn't go chat with this Seeker?" Varric asked, a smug look on his bruised face. "As I'm _told_…ha!" he grumbled under his breath.

"What? We're not talking to the Seeker anymore? But, I'd already washed my good tea set!" Merrill complained, and then noticed they were all looking at her strangely. "What? Is something in my teeth?" she asked, showing her teeth to Donnic, who just chuckled and shook his head.

The guardsman walked across the room, kissing the top of Aveline's head.

"To answer your question, Varric, no, if I were you, I wouldn't talk with her. If she's any good at her work, then you're very right to worry," Donnic said honestly as he sat down beside his wife. "But as a guardsman, I have to tell you, the people who refuse to cooperate are the ones we tend to scrutinize the most. If your goal is to avoid undue attention, then meet with her and get it over with."

"Donnic, I respect your opinion, but there's no way I'll meet with her," Varric said flatly. "None. I'll leave Kirkwall first."

"Varric!" Aveline exclaimed in surprise. "Don't you think you're taking this a bit far?"

"No, I don't. Listen, do you have any idea how many plates I've got spinning? The plans laid out with Sebastian are very complex, _and_ I'm working with his friend in Starkhaven to cover things there, too! Not to mention, my network tracking Fenris and we're still spreading _good_ rumors while we nix the bad ones…" he paused, sighing. "Look, the bottom line is, I've got dozens of tiny loose ends. _I_ know where they are, and _I_ know when to tie 'em up, but if there's _any_ chance this Pentaghast woman can snag even _one_, well, it's Hawke and Choir Boy that will pay the price."

"What if we go together?" Aveline offered. "With us both there, we can keep better control of the discussion."

"No, Aveline. I'm sorry, but I won't be meeting with her. Period."

Aveline sighed. "Fine," she finally agreed. "I did tell her at the time, when I agreed, that I could only speak for myself. I made no promises on anyone else's behalf."

"Good," Varric said, reclining in the bed, pressing the cold cloth against his ear. "But now that we're all talking about this, while I think she shouldn't see her, maybe you should go with Merrill, when she meets with the woman."

"I agree she shouldn't see Cassandra either." Aveline smiled at the small elf and shook her head. "Actually, I'm not sure _why_ you washed your tea set, Merrill. You were never to meet with the Seeker in the first place."

"Why not? Is it because I live in the alienage?" Merrill asked, her tone hostile.

"No, of course not, it's because…"

"She doesn't like elves? Is that it? Of all the predictable…"

Donnic began to chuckle and laid his hand over his wife's, who was about to give Merrill a sharp retort. "No, Merrill. It's because you're a mage, a blood mage at that."

"And?" Merrill prodded.

"And, the Seekers are members of the Templar order," Varric finished.

"What? They're templars? The Seeker is a templar? Honestly, you should know these things, Aveline, I can't believe you wanted me to talk to her!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, Varric, for setting Aveline straight!" she said as she shot a hurt-filled look at the warrior.

Aveline moaned and softly thumped her forehead on the tabletop as Varric laughed with glee.

**xXx**

Lorelai was seated with her legs folded under her in the middle of their large bed. It was late evening, and she should be finishing her dinner downstairs in the formal dining room, but exhaustion had forced her to retreat to their apartments.

Well, if she were being honest, it was more the dinner menu, than fatigue, that forced her retreat.

There was nothing appealing about the chef's penchant for offal, nothing in the least. She'd been famished when she'd arrived in the hall, and had, in fact, become rather used to seeing the more traditional dishes available. Tonight, however, between the heat of the day and the strong smells from the piping hot dishes, when the haggis had been offered, it was nearly more than she could bear.

So now, the tall windows of the room thrown open to the breeze and stripped down to her simple chemise, she enjoyed the deliciously cold glass of ginger water her maid had so graciously brought to settle her belly, and she relished the quiet.

Sighing in pleasure as the cool wind whisked through the room and kissed her skin, she reached for the small pile of correspondence that awaited her attention, delighted to see that a letter from Aveline had arrived.

She ripped the seal off and unfolded the parchment, eager to know how her beloved friend was faring.

_Dear Hawke,_

_Varric has kept us updated on many of the happenings in Starkhaven, and we understand that things appear to be moving in the direction Sebastian had hoped. Is he correct that the current prince is willing to step down without conflict? It's good to learn this, if it is true, as we have all been worried you would meet resistance. I look forward to knowing when Sebastian will be having his investiture._

_A great deal has occurred since your departure, the least of which, I regret to share, includes Fenris's choice to leave Kirkwall. He has designated himself responsible for seeing that Justice is met and dispensed, once and for all. We each argued vigorously against his decision, but despite his leaving, be confident that we took every known measure to ensure that our dear friend can return to us. Until then, I know you shall join me in remembering him in our prayers._

_I am hoping that as you become more settled you shall have the opportunity to write more often. I miss knowing how you are, and wonder if you've settled into your new role. How do you feel? Has the pregnancy progressed well? Perhaps what you had worried would be missing most in your new life has been found? I hope so._

_Things in Kirkwall remain much as you left them, and I fear matters will grow worse. The Gallows is filled with templars and there seems to be no end to their growing ranks. Knight-Captain Cullen has been easy to work with, but he is clearly receiving a great deal of pressure from his superiors to place his men within Kirkwall, and not just within the chantries and at the Gallows. My instincts tell me there can only be one purpose for that. The tension here feels much like it did before that fateful day and nearly everyone is nervous. There are many empty mansions in Hightown._

_Please write when you can, Hawke. I miss you a great deal and am eager for any news. _

_Warmest regards,_

_Aveline_

Lorelai lowered the letter, frowning as she considered its contents. She noticed that Aveline had capitalized the word 'Justice' and gasped, gathering her hidden meaning. "Oh Fenris, what are you doing?" she whispered with worry.

"Do you feel better, Darlin'?"

Lorelai glanced up and smiled to see that Sebastian had entered the room, a large covered tray in his hands.

"I do," she answered slowly, arching an elegant eyebrow. "What have you there?"

His grin was sly as he placed the tray at the foot of the bed, but did not lift the cover from it. "Nothing terribly interesting, I assure you. What are you reading?"

"A letter from Aveline, it seems things in Kirkwall are still bad, and Fenris has gone off after Anders," she explained. "I'm worried about him, Seb. Anders really only has one place to go, you and I know that, and Fenris must as well. What in the world is he thinking?"

Her husband took up the letter and his eyes quickly scanned its contents. "I'm not certain what she means by 'every known measure', but between her and Varric, I would expect they were thorough, whatever they are."

"But the _Imperium_? After everything he went through, how could he even consider it?" she argued. "No. Fenris wouldn't follow him all the way _there_, no, that's just madness." Her brow crinkled with worry and she bit her lip. "At least, I pray he wouldn't, would he?"

"Fenris is one of the smartest men I know, and he's more knowledgeable than any of us on what dangers he may or may not face there. He's also no longer a slave," he assured her. "And as Aveline said, they're looking after him as best they can. Place your faith in their skills and the Maker, Darlin', Fenris _will_ be well."

She nodded. "You're right," she sighed, her eyes drifting back down to the tray he'd placed at the end of the bed. "What's under the lid, Seb?"

He chuckled. "I thought you were exhausted?"

She bit her lip and rolled her eyes. "I was, kind of, but…"

"But it was the dinner that sent ye scurrying, wasn't it?"

She looked contrite. "I'm sorry; I hope the staff didn't realize why I'd gone, they work so hard. I just, oh, I can't tell you how horrible things smell to me right now. I felt ill and then the haggis came in and…" she paused as he grandly removed the lid to the tray, "…_and you've brought food from_ _home_!" she exclaimed, lunging forward. "Oh Seb, you wonderful man, I love you!" she cried as she dipped a scone into the fresh clotted cream.

He laughed, his happiness shining in his eyes.

She sunk her teeth into the coated scone and moaned in pleasure before she looked at the rest of the food on the tray. "Oh! And roast chicken and proper potatoes! Maker save me, they're even crispy!" she squealed, snatching one small round potato from its plate. "Is that spotted dick?" she asked, pointing to a small bowl, her mouth full of food.

"Aye, and a steak and ale pie, if you're so inclined."

She reached up and grabbed his collar, jerking him forward and kissing him soundly. "Thank you!"

He grinned like a loon, wiping scone crumbs from his chin. "Ye're very welcome, Darlin'," he said happily, watching her eat with vigor.

"How was your visit with Cameron?" she asked as she pulled a leg from the chicken.

He looked surprised. "You heard he was here, did ye?"

"I did," she replied. "You hear all manner of things once the servants figure out you're not a snooty arsehole."

He snorted. "I expect ye do."

"So…how was it then? I don't see any blood on your shirt," she noted, a teasing smile on her lips. "Did it go well, love?"

He sighed and sat next to her on the bed. "I like that."

"What?"

"When ye call me 'love'," he whispered and kissed the side of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. He kissed her jaw line and worked his way to her lips, kissing her deeply. He heard her moan, and so was surprised that she then pushed him back.

"Sebastian, stop distracting me and answer the question!"

He arched an eyebrow. "I, dear wife, am a _not_ distraction, but rather the _focus_," he explained saucily, reaching for her again. She swatted at his hand, laughing.

"Sorry, Seb, but the clotted cream is _my_ focus," she said, laughing merrily at his mock hurt.

"Harpy!" he declared and gently pounced on her, kissing her until her giggles ceased.

An hour later, naked, spent and cradling her against his chest, he ran his fingers through her long hair.

"_Now_ will you answer my question?" she asked, kissing his chest.

"It went very well, Darlin', better than I could have ever hoped," he replied. "Cameron is a good man, and he accepted my apology with grace. He asked me some very difficult questions, but I held nothing back, and I think he appreciated that."

"So, fences mended then?"

"Aye, I believe so." He rolled onto his side and faced her, running his fingertips down her cheek. "You like Marie a great deal, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes. She's honest and tough, I think she'd do anything for her family, and I understand that all too well. Plus, she loves you." He stroked her cheek and waited. "I think the same love and protectiveness she shows her family is extended to you. Maybe it's because of how much you mean to Cameron, or maybe it's because she's not afraid to open her heart, but her caring for you endears her to me. So, how could I not like her?"

"She is a very good match for Cam, that's for certain."

She laughed. "That's true, and it took a lot of guts for her to come here yesterday. She stuck her neck out to help the two of you."

"And _you_ stuck yours out for me," he whispered. "You didn't have to tell her about the baby."

She snuggled closer and sighed. "No, I suppose I didn't _have_ to," she conceded. "But they should know everything if we're asking them to risk everything, and we _are_. They've been so public in their support of us, and the repercussions for them if things fell apart…I just didn't think it was right to keep them in the dark."

"This is why I knew you would make a worthy princess, Lorelai," he said with pride in his voice. "You are thinking of others first, despite the danger it brings you, and you understand how politics can force our hands at times. You made the best choice, even though it was the hardest."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased, embarrassed by his generous compliment. She grew more serious. "I'm very happy you and Cam are better."

"As am I," he agreed, kissing her brow. "I know it's still early, but I confess I'm tired enough to sleep for three days."

"The pregnant lady wore you out, eh? Poor baby," she giggled. "Sleep well, handsome," she said, tucking the linens around him and kissing the top of his head.

He smiled and raised an eyebrow, looking at her from under his lashes, feeling completely content. He was just drifting off to sleep when he felt the bed shift, and realized she was getting up.

"Darlin'?"

"Shhh, go to sleep," she whispered.

"Where are ye going?"

"Seb, there's food over here, and I'm nearly six months pregnant, where do you think I'm going?"

He chuckled as he watched her move the food tray to the far side of the room. He closed his eyes, his heart happy, the weight of his burdens lightened. The last thing he saw before he entered the Fade was the woman he loved putting a scoop of pudding onto a roasted potato. It was disgusting.

And perfect.

_**As always, a HUGE thank you to the amazing Lisa, who's honest and tough herself **__** Here's to the list, chick!**_

_**Thank you for reading! I am a week behind updating, sorry about that! I hope that you each know how grateful I am for every review, subscription, and adding this story to your favourites list. Thank you a million times over!**_


	26. The Art of Persuasion

**The Art of Persuasion and An Ugly Pair of Pants**

Aveline lowered the letter she'd been reading to her desk top and sighed.

It was getting late, well past dinner, and to say she was exhausted was a pathetic understatement. She sometimes felt even her very bones were tired from the unending parade of catastrophe and trials they'd faced over the last few years. Normally, the weight of things was something she would have shared with Hawke, and her husband had very admirably tried to fill her dear friend's boots since her departure, but sometimes…

Sitting back in her chair, she again picked up the correspondence, her eyes lingering on the signature of the guard-captain from a village she'd never heard of before. The news was not good.

"Damn it, Fenris," she muttered, tossing the letter back onto the desk.

A knock sounded against her office door and she called permission to enter, surprised to see that it was the seeker, Cassandra Penteghast, and her companion, Leliana, who had sought entrance.

"Good evening, Seeker, Leliana," Aveline said politely, coming to her feet. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked, gesturing for them to sit at the vacant chairs before her desk.

"I have come to ask if your friend, the dwarf, has recovered enough to speak with us," Cassandra inquired. "It's been nearly two weeks since his rescue, has it not?"

"It has," Aveline replied.

"And?"

"And," Aveline repeated slowly, "he, as you know, is an extremely busy man. His time is in great demand, and, considering he had been missing for a time, I expect that is truer now than ever before."

Cassandra arched an eyebrow and glanced at Leliana. "I see."

Leliana shifted in her chair, a false smile playing on her lips. "Aveline, surely you can help Messere Tethras understand how important meeting with us is? We are, after all, on a holy mission."

"I have spoken with him, as I said I would," Aveline replied evenly. "I would remind you, that when I agreed to answer your questions, I made no promises on behalf of the others."

"And _I_ would remind _you_, Captain Vallen, that the dwarf's well-being is a direct result of my charity," Cassandra said tersely. "Had I not sought you out, you may still have been searching for him, and, based on his injuries, I believe it reasonable to say you would only have found a corpse."

"Typically an act of _charity_, as you call it, doesn't include strings, but I concede you helped greatly," Aveline reluctantly agreed, her eyes narrowed in anger. "However, let us not ignore that this 'charitable act' also _significantly_ aided _you_, Seeker."

"Captain, if we could just…" Leliana started but Aveline continued, ignoring her interruption.

"It must have been far easier to let the city guard clean out your little band of vigilante templars rather than to handle it yourselves." Aveline crossed her arms. "After all, drawing attention to yet _another_ overzealous group running amok within your _pristine_ order would surely mar the whitewash the Chantry is trying to apply to the reality of what Knight-Commander Meredith did."

"I gather that means you are a sympathizer to the mages' cause?" Cassandra inquired, feigning a casualness that didn't match her tense posture.

"My opinion isn't the topic of our discussion. We both know there were other motivations for your aid," Aveline stated, jabbing her forefinger against her desktop. "Don't try to tell me you helped out of the goodness of your heart, Cassandra, and don't bother with the Chantry guilt trip. You helped me and I helped you. We're _even_."

The captain and the seeker glared at one another until Leliana broke the tense silence.

"Captain, you know our responsibility to the Chantry," she said softly, her tone one of subtle pleading. "Our purpose in Kirkwall is clear; surely you can understand the intent of our interviews. Before we make our final recommendation to the Divine, we need to fully comprehend what occurred here. Messere Tethras played a large part in the Champion's life and his statement is of the utmost importance."

Aveline sat forward. "Are you investigating the events here or the Champion?" she demanded.

"The Champion is the _only_ common denominator," Cassandra answered. "The woman's intentions, her actions, her motivations…these things _must_ be understood. I will speak frankly, Captain, the Divine is very disturbed by the events here in Kirkwall, yes, but she is more upset by her realization that the Chantry may be out of touch with the people."

"May?" Aveline scoffed.

Leliana raised her hand slightly, staying Cassandra's reply.

"The magi of Thedas have never been a group easily satisfied, this is nothing new. But to see such a rebellion begin, and to know that even _after_ the events here the number of those sympathetic to the mages' cause still grows, is very distressing," Leliana explained. "The Divine is not a rash woman; she wishes to allow the Maker's Word to guide her actions. But she cannot ignore the threat posed to the Chantry, and she seeks to understand the discord."

"And your friend, the Champion, she is at the very center of things," Cassandra finished.

Aveline sighed, her eyes pausing briefly on the letter from Guard-Captain Foster.

"Aveline," Leliana began. "I knew the Grand Cleric, and I know Sebastian. Elthina thought the world of the Champion, and I know she trusted her. Please believe me when I say we are not trying to build a case, as it were, against the Champion, but we're trying to comprehend what truly happened."

Aveline stared hard at Cassandra. "What the hell does 'as it were' mean?"

"It means I need answers," Cassandra said firmly. "I require a full understanding, Captain, or I will be forced to rely on rumors and hearsay to form the conclusions I need. I am charged with ensuring the Divine's full reckoning of what occurred here; you do not want her to make those choices based on taproom gossip."

"She's considering moving against Kirkwall, then? Is that what you're implying?" Aveline demanded.

"You are responsible for the people of Kirkwall and I believe you take that responsibility seriously," Cassandra replied. "I need answers, Captain, or something less than the truth will fill in the gaps. That is not something either Kirkwall or any of you can afford. Get me the dwarf."

The Seeker stood and left the room, leaving Leliana sitting in her seat alone.

"Aveline, please try to understand. She's under an enormous pressure to sort this out," Leliana said slowly as she stood.

"Maker knows, I certainly understand being under pressure," Aveline admitted. "But she needs to realize that we are not against her. I no more condone or understand what Anders did than the next person, and I had known him for seven years."

The Orlesian rogue sighed. "That I can believe. He deceived so many, and it seems no one truly knew him. If my impression of Hawke is correct, she was dealt a vicious blow by his actions," she said. "I still find myself wondering greatly at a man who can heal and care for so many at his own personal risk and financial cost, only to murder so many in one fell swoop."

"Hawke was a pawn, Leliana, nothing more. She was devastated when he committed his crime."

"Yet she acted swiftly, by attempting to kill Anders."

The captain glanced to the shield given to her so long ago by her friend. "She has always been one to do what's right, no matter the cost to herself."

Leliana met Aveline's gaze evenly. "Neither I, nor Cassandra, believe Hawke had a _direct_ hand in what happened here, at least, not in Elthina's death. The Divine knew Elthina's opinion of Hawke, and she thinks very highly of Sebastian. That carries a great deal of weight. The conclusions are _not_ predetermined; the Divine is sincerely seeking the truth, not a scapegoat."

Aveline stood. "I appreciate your candor, Leliana. I will do my best with the others, I swear it to you."

Leliana nodded. "I can leave this in your hands for now, Aveline," she said. "But we are running out of time, and soon we must make our recommendations to the Divine. Please, do what you must to convince your friend, he's the missing puzzle piece in this, I know it."

Standing as well, Leliana offered a weak smile and left, closing the door behind her.

Sitting heavily in her chair once more, Aveline considered everything that had been revealed in her conversation with Cassandra. Resting her face in her hands, her elbows propped on her desk, her eyes wandered back down to the letter about Fenris. Groaning, she rolled her eyes.

She looked around her office, reports piled high, and the latest list of more serious crimes itemized next to them. "And to think, I left the Blight behind for all _this_!" she grumped.

Standing, she took up the letter from Foster and headed to the Hanged Man.

**xXx**

"May I help?" Lorelai asked Sebastian, smiling at him as she entered his office.

There were ledgers stacked from the floor to the top of his desk, as well as accounts, receipts and long-since yellowed bundles of parchment sticking out from the edges of the stacks. Clearly, the officer of the treasury had kept his promise, and had sent over his documentation in support of his calculations.

"Hello, Darlin'," he answered, matching her smile with his own. "Did you enjoy your walk? How are you two feeling?"

"I did, I still can't get over the expanse of the gardens. I met with the head gardener, too." She patted her growing belly and grinned. "And we're fine, thank you. Not too busy now, I think she's asleep."

"She? It was 'he' earlier this morning," he observed with a cheeky grin.

She blushed. "Well, it felt more like a 'he' this morning, but now it feels more like a 'she'."

"Just _how_ do you tell the difference?"

She wiggled her eyebrows. "I just can, so there!" she said, pulling a face. He laughed. "Now, do you want to argue over my intuition or do you want me to help you with this massive pile of work?"

He was still grinning as he took her hand and guided her around the stacks, and, sitting back at his desk, pulled her into his lap. "I would be very grateful, Darlin', but Cameron has a portion at his home, and we've worked out a system to account for each other's stacks. I'm afraid we will make a mistake if you take some as well."

She frowned. "Oh," she said, her disappointment obvious. "I'm quite good at numbers."

He kissed her, his thumb stroking her chin. "I know," he said soothingly. "Next time I'll set aside some for you to review, I promise."

She nodded and sighed before kissing the tip of his thumb.

"Lorelai," he began, sensing her restlessness, "you're bored, aren't you?"

"To tears!" she confessed. "I'm used to _doing_ something, you know, _other_ than attending luncheons or teas. I know they have a purpose too, but there _must_ be something else, something I can do that actually _helps_ your people."

"_Our_ people," he corrected kindly. "And I'm sure there is. What were you thinking of?"

"I don't know, a charity perhaps? Is there a school that needs patronage? What about an orphanage or a group for widows or blind dogs or something?"

He smiled indulgently and chuckled. "You're used to having a city teeming with refugees and a much larger criminal element, Darlin'. Starkhaven is a tad less exciting, I'm afraid." She rolled her eyes. "But you're correct, the royal family has always supported such groups, but I'm not certain who currently has patronage."

"Then shouldn't I check on that? Who knows, maybe that's where some of the missing money is going?" she speculated. "Maybe there are officials padding their pockets with some poor orphan's milk money?"

"Or with the blind dog's kibble."

She laughed. "I'm serious; this could be a good thing for me to look into."

"Sebastian, my boy!" bellowed a voice from across the office as the doors burst open. Goran strolled into the room unannounced, a smile full on his face and his vibrant lime coat clashing with his purple breeches.

Lorelai and Sebastian had had a few interactions with Goran since their arrival at the palace, and she'd come to rethink her initial opinion of the garish man. He was, without a doubt, the most horribly inappropriate and ill spoken dirty old man she'd ever known, but she'd realized he was mostly harmless. Understanding this had made his sexist and asinine comments much easier to tolerate, and allowed her the luxury of baiting him when she could.

However, as harmless as he was proving to be, he was still a complete and utter boob.

"Sebastian, I came tae…och, forgive me, my dear!" he exclaimed, his eyes falling onto Lorelai. "Maker but yer a _fine_ vision, Lorelai! And look at ye growin' so fat with my blessed cousin's babe! Yer like a ripe peach, burstin' in all the very tastiest o' places!"

Sebastian chuckled softly and Lorelai cuffed him gently at the back of his head. She turned to Goran. "Thank you, Goran. And you're looking sharp as a lime. How have you been?"

Sebastian lightly tickled her side, but didn't break his serious countenance.

"What did ye say, lass?" He frowned at her and looked at Sebastian. "Och! That accent, lassie, it's enough tae grate on a dead man's ears! Ye need tae teach yer woman proper pronunciation, lad!" He glanced at the large pile of ledgers and papers. "What are ye doin'?"

"I'm checking the accounts, Cousin," Sebastian answered evenly.

Goran snorted. "That's what ye have people fer! Why in the world would ye rack yer brain over such a thing?"

"Goran," the younger Vael began. "Lorelai and I were just talking about her wish to be of more help to the people," he explained, ignoring Lorelai's stare of amazement. "She feels the princess should be more involved."

Goran looked thoughtful. "Ye know, the lassie has a point. Yer dear mother always ha' some sad little group she was lookin' after. She was very fond of the schools an' such, though it seems a waste tae me."

"A waste?" Lorelai repeated incredulously.

"Aye! I mean, why would ye teach the figurin' and writin' to a bunch of bairns of the workin' folk? I dinnae expect they do a lot of writin' when they're plowin' a field, or milkin' a cow, now do they?"

Lorelai just stared, blinking slowly as she tried to choose her reply.

Goran looked at Sebastian and put his hand on the side of his mouth, whispering. "She's a bit slow, is she?"

"That does it!" Lorelai exclaimed, moving around the front of the desk, her right hand drawing into a fist. Sebastian bolted out of his chair and gently pulled her to him. "Just once, Seb," she said under her breath as Goran stared at them both.

"Do ye want me to tae take ye to the school fer these children?" Goran offered slowly, still watching the rogue carefully. "There are several schools in the city, ye know, but the free school is rather far out, makes it easier fer the workin' folk."

"Absolutely not! Nope! No thank…"

"Yes, Goran, that would be very helpful," Sebastian interrupted, sending his wife sputtering through the last of her sentence. "Why not send someone for the carriage and ye can both go and be back before tea?"

Goran was still watching Lorelai carefully, his look one of concern. "Is she alright there, my boy?"

Lorelai glared, her cheeks still flushed and her features marred by a fierce frown.

"Aye, she's fine!" Sebastian replied, ignoring Lorelai as he walked closer to the door. "Never ye worry, Goran, I expect she's just excited. Why not go see to it, have things made ready, if you don't mind?"

Goran nodded and turned, leaving the office. The door shut and Lorelai pounced on her husband.

"Excited?" she repeated in a shrill tone. "What are you thinking? I am not spending the day with that…that bloated idiot!" she exclaimed. "There is no bloody way that I can take a whole morning with him! I'm going to kill him!"

"I thought you were feeling better about him," he pointed out.

Her eyes narrowed. "I _meant_ I could get through a formal meal or something, or some sort of minor, teeny tiny, little-bitty _controlled_ and _time limited_ exposure. I didn't mean we were friends!"

"Lorelai, listen to me, he's clearly more knowledgeable of my mother's work with the school than I am," Sebastian explained, rubbing her arms. "And while he _is_ an absolute ass, he's still a _royal_ one, and if you arrive at the school with the _current_ prince, taking the reins as it were, you will find it far easier to get in the door. You can go with Samson and a few guards, make it look like a tour of the area or something."

"He's going to say something or do something that will set me off, Seb! He's probably trying to figure out which seat in the carriage will best let him stare at my chest during the ride!"

"And if he does more than look, I will trust you to break every bone in his body," he replied. "But he wouldn't do such a thing, and ye know it. Yes, he's awful, but he may be able to offer ye some real insight into the previous work done by my mother, not just at the school but throughout that entire area. Use the tour as a chance to pick his brain."

"I don't want what's in his brain or any other part of his body."

There was a knock at the door and a footman entered, informing them that the carriage was nearly ready and a rider had been sent on to the school to make way.

"No need for a rider to make way for us," she said sourly. "They'll see his coat from three bloody miles out!"

The footman arched an eyebrow, attempting to remain unaffected, but was clearly struggling not to grin. Lorelai gestured at the footman while looking at her husband. "See? Even he knows what I'm talking about!"

"Thank you, Hamish. My wife will be ready shortly," the blue-eyed prince replied, watching as the man bowed and left silently. "You cannot forget yourself, Darlin'," he said, gently scolding her for her comments to the footman.

She pursed her lips. "Forgive me, but you did just _ambush_ me, you know," she complained and then sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to involve Hamish, and I _do_ know it's best for everyone to think we're all one big happy family, but _honestly_, Seb, how could you…"

"We're _going_ to deal with Goran, Lorelai, no matter what. He's not going away, just stepping down, and at least this will do some good," he explained quietly. "Please, you've dealt with far worse. He's old and annoying, aye, but harmless for the most part. Go see the school and learn what ye can."

"This isn't exactly how I planned on doing this," she reminded him, her irritation rallying. "Damn it, Seb, of all the Maker forsaken stunts to…"

"They _do_ say He works in mysterious ways," he interrupted, wrapping his arms around her. She went rigid, crossing her arms to resist his hug. "Perhaps He hopes to give purpose to both you and Goran today."

"No, He plans on sitting up there and laughing His arse silly as I try not to kill that fool of a man!"

He suppressed a grin. "Either way, a purpose is being served," he said solemnly.

She rolled her eyes before finally relaxing into his arms. "I'll be good," she promised in a resigned tone. "But if he makes _one_ comment, and I mean _one,_ about how many times I need the loo he will _not_ return in one piece! Understood?"

Sebastian chuckled, imagining what the next few hours of his wife's day would be like. "Understood," he replied with a laugh, and grinning, watched her go before he returned to his work.

**xXx**

"Aw shit, Aveline, give me a break!" Varric moaned.

They were seated in the backroom of the Hanged Man, Aveline having arrived just as dinner was being offered. The crowd this evening was light, and both she and Varric were sipping fresh pints from the bar.

"Varric, I told you what they said," she reiterated. "They're not bluffing and you need to take this all very seriously. If there's any chance that the Divine is truly considering a push back against the mages, then Kirkwall is the most logical place to start. The numbers of templars in the city and Gallows is swelling."

"That could be for a number of reasons!"

"Yes, most of which don't forebode well for Kirkwall," she argued. "Varric, are you so caught up in things that you can't see the forest for the trees? They're either going to use their numbers here to make Kirkwall the launching point of their counter-offensive, assuming the mages ever grow organized enough, or they're here to level this place."

"Anders killed the Grand Cleric almost six months ago!" he contended. "They've had loads of time to level things, Aveline, but they're still sitting on their asses and shining armor out in the harbor."

"Yes, and yet they keep sending more templars, don't they?" she countered. "We must act, Varric, we need to get ahead of this thing, however it plays out."

"I made a promise, Red," he growled. "There's no way I'm breaking it!"

"I'm not asking you to! I'm asking you to _protect_ them!"

Varric glared and sharply shoved his empty mug away from him. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Being a stubborn fool, that's what!" she snapped. "This isn't avoidable, Varric! Do you not understand the threat here? Do you honestly _not_ see that this _entire_ thing is about information? Maker's balls, man, you of all people understand how important a story is!"

"Don't lecture me, Aveline! Don't you dare tell me how to do my job!"

"Then get your head out of your arse, man!" she said, slapping her hand on the tabletop. "These people can do far more than cause a hitch in our plans, Varric! The can flatten Kirkwall if they feel it's needed! And who's to say they won't then move against Starkhaven?"

"Anders is the one who started this mess!"

"And we're going to finish it! By the Maker, we cannot allow his lies to continue to thrive! Go meet with them and tell them what they must know!"

Varric stood from the table and walked to a bookcase, taking from it a thick leather volume, which he threw onto the table where it skidded to a halt just short of her pint.

"That, my good captain, is everything! Right there! Every single job we've ever worked, every single schmuck we've ever helped, every thug we've dealt with, every coin earned is noted in that book!" he seethed. "That's _who_ were are, those stories and notes in there. We formed _our_ family from all of the shit we've dealt with; we found our home, _here_, _together_, as we worked our way up from the muck and mire of Kirkwall!"

Aveline gingerly touched the book, opening it slowly.

"Those people within the Chantry don't know us, Aveline, and they don't want to. They want their version of events spread far and wide and their sadistic treatment of mages justified," he continued, his tone harsh. "They're going to do whatever it takes to make things here, and everywhere else, fit their definition of right. And there's no way I'm helping them."

"And if they're not misleading us?" she challenged. "What if they really mean what they say?"

"It's irrelevant. Those women don't have the power to make promises; they're just cogs in the machine. Their impressions of us mean nothing in the grand scheme of things," he argued. "The Divine has to act, and she has to act quickly, we both know that."

"And what of Hawke?"

"She did right by all of us, Red, and I'll be damned if I ever forget that," he said passionately. "She's got a real chance to be happy, even after everything that's happened."

"That happiness could cost a lot of people a great deal, Varric," she countered. "The truth is hardly damning for Hawke. I genuinely believe that neither the seeker nor her counterpart feels Lorelai had a thing to do with the events that day," she explained sincerely. "Knight-Captain Cullen has already shared with them the cause of Meredith's lunacy, and he spoke freely of it with me. Even the rumors around what happened to her are all nearly on the mark. These women seem to genuinely be seeking the truth."

"So we risk everything we've orchestrated for Hawke on your _gut_?"

"Hardly everything, and we've gambled on yours often enough," the captain scoffed. "Be realistic. They've questioned me and their concerns were entirely of the months leading up to the day of the explosion. They asked me in many varying ways about the confrontation that occurred with Orsino and Meredith, about Anders's death, but their questions didn't include anything after Hawke and Sebastian's marriage."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I don't think they doubt the story of their marriage or the pregnancy," she reasoned. "What you're trying to protect is her _future_, Varric, and I agree that we must secure it at almost all costs. But these investigators are focused on the why, on the role Hawke played, along with us, in how this all came to be. The seeker told me the Divine wishes to understand the cause, not simply react to the effect."

"And if you're wrong, Aveline, and the Chantry sends templars pouring into the Free Marches anyway? What if you're completely misreading things and this is all one elaborate set-up?"

"If that's truly their plan, we're all screwed, no matter how cooperative we are," she replied. "And nothing we're debating here will mean a damned thing."

"No, it won't," he agreed sadly. He approached and pulled the book over to him. Both were quiet and thoughtful until he eventually picked it up and replaced it on the shelf.

Aveline tapped her fingers on the wood of the table. "That was rather dramatic, you know, throwing the book down. You've not lost your flair, I see."

He forced a laugh. "Yeah, well, too bad I chose the wrong damned one."

"I noticed that," she admitted with a hesitant smile. "But I didn't want to throw off your pace."

"Huh," he grunted. "Thanks."

She slowly pushed her chair back and stood. "So you'll go? You'll meet with the seeker?"

His back was still to her, his fingers lingering on the spine of the book. "I need at least a week, Red, to make sure I can get a man to Starkhaven with the most current news. Once I know that Hawke and Sebastian know what we have to do, I'm game." He turned around and met her gaze. "_But not until I let them know._"

"A reasonable compromise, my friend," she conceded and turned to go.

"You realize we're going to have to leave, don't you?" he called out as she reached the doorway.

She turned and the warrior's face betrayed her briefly, for her heartache was clear on it before she regained her composure. "I realize that the time grows closer, yes. But I still have a duty here, and until it's met or it's no longer mine, here I shall remain."

"Have you and Donnic thought about where you'll go?"

She looked down quickly before she met his eyes again. "We have. Home to Ferelden," she confessed. "It seems we will someday be refugees in my homeland; even I can't fail to see the irony. And you?"

"You know me, Red, too many opportunities to choose from. I'll land where the wind takes me," he said nonchalantly. "But I do worry about Daisy."

"And Fenris."

"And Fenris," Varric sighed.

"He's safe," she said quickly, remembering her earlier letter from Captain Foster. "He's very far north and he apparently fought, and nearly had, Anders. I've just got a letter in the post from the head of the village guard where he's been; Fenris had asked him to send us word of his whereabouts."

"Good, that's one less worry to keep me up tonight. Give me the village name and I'll see what's happening in that neck of the woods."

She placed the letter on the end of the table. "Keep me updated, alright?" she asked before turning to go. "And Varric?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. This is the right thing to do," she said quietly before she nodded her farewell and left the room.

"We'll see, Red. We'll see."

**xXx**

The weather was horrendous.

For three days, sheets of icy rain had been falling from the grey sky, and Fenris felt the cold of it to his core. He shoved his sodden hair from his eyes and glanced up at the sky, frustrated that the hour was indiscernible due to the clouds.

There'd been no trail to follow for over a week now and the elf knew he would soon reach the border of the Imperium. The wretched destination was now his only hope in finding Anders once more.

Recalling the day in the market still drove him to a near-blinding fury. He could still feel the mage's skin under his fingers and clenched his hand into a tight ball to dispel the memory.

His focus had been to quickly re-establish his hunt for the mage, but the confrontation they'd shared in the alley that day still plagued him. Anders had claimed Justice had left him and the fiend's statement now rattled endlessly around his mind, the implications of it gnawing at him.

The confession had easily been ignored in the heat of the moment, but, as the days passed, he began to wonder at it. Each time that he'd witnessed Anders's life threatened, Justice had pushed his way to the surface to defend the mage, and yet the spirit had made no such appearance when Fenris had pinned Anders to the ground.

He knew that Anders's flesh had been seared by his markings, their activation making his touch deadly, and he knew that both Justice and Anders had observed his abilities. So why hadn't the spirit intervened?

Had the mage told the truth? Had Justice truly left his host?

Ultimately, the question was not relevant to his quest, but he felt unsettled knowing that, had he been with Hawke, she would not find the question irrelevant at all. She would wish to understand how their separation had come to pass, and how much Justice had had to do with the destruction in Kirkwall.

Fenris, however, _did not_.

Answering her questions, learning what had occurred since Anders had escaped Kirkwall, would only delay the inevitable, for Fenris knew that the final answer would not be ignored. He understood that the truth could not be hidden and Hawke's penchant for forgiveness could not change it.

Justice had not been acting in Anders's stead when the mage had asked Hawke to find the materials which eventually became a bomb, nor when Anders had somehow entered the belly of the chantry to plant it. Discounting the visible changes in Anders when the spirit was in control, Justice's presence could be detected by even Fenris, his markings reacting to the deep power of the spirit.

The reality was that templars were trained to detect any opening, even the smallest one, in the Fade. And had Justice been in control when Anders placed his potions within the sanctuary, the abomination would have been discovered instantly. No matter the sway the spirit had over his host, it was _Anders_ who had entered the chantry, and it was _Anders_ who had knowingly planted the vile concoction.

And it was his existence that threatened Hawke and her child's welfare. No, Fenris thought, he needed no further explanations. Anders deserved to die.

To his amazement, the intensity of the rain doubled and he could see almost nothing of his path. He huddled under a cluster of trees, their limbs offering a mild respite from the stinging rain. The wind shifted and he was forced to circle around the largest, his foot becoming entangled in a vine as he did.

He cursed and bent, trying to work his foot free, but only succeeded in tightening the knots. He reached for the small eating knife he carried and sliced through the smaller ones until he could wiggle his foot. Wedging the knife under the thickest vine, he sawed and then pulled at both the knife and his foot.

Suddenly, the vine gave way and the release of the tension sent him tumbling across the muddy ground.

A string of curses echoed throughout the wood as the warrior regained his feet. Spying his sword a short distance away, he sought it, only to find the forest floor giving way under him. He landed with a heavy thud.

He was stunned from the fall, the wind knocked from him. Struggling to move, he slowly rolled to his side and pushed up to a seated position, trying to see where he'd landed. With a sinking feeling, he realized he had fallen into a slaver's holding pit.

The pits were still in use in the Imperium, allowing for easy corralling of the slaver's property during travel. If large groups of slaves were being moved from one trader to another, pits off of the main roads were used during overnight stops or prolonged rest.

Circular in shape, the pits were nearly four meters deep, their sides smoothed and carefully cleared of any root or rock that may aid a person's ascent. Large stakes with metal rings were set deep into the earthen floor, allowing a trader to tether his slaves with rope or chain to the bottom of the pit.

Fenris began to move to the outside walls of the pit, his hands running over the long abandoned walls in hope of finding a root or growth that he could use to crawl up. A half hour later, the rain nearly gone, he'd completed the circle, and returned to his starting point with no idea of how to get out.

"Venhedis!" he bellowed, his anger getting the better of him as he slapped the flat wall.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" replied a feminine voice.

Fenris spun around and searched the rim.

"I'm over here," called the voice again. He turned once more, and finally spotted its owner.

She was a human, small and strikingly attractive, the observation of which caught him off guard. Her hair was blonde and her face smudged with dirt as she knelt down beside the edge of the pit. A bow was slung behind her, her quiver visible over her shoulder as she looked down at him.

She smiled. "Hi there," she said. "What are you doing in my pit?"

_Her pit?_ he thought, his nerves crackling with tension, his muscles tight.

"Are you a slave? If so, you're rather far from home, aren't you?" she asked, watching him closely. She arched an eyebrow as he glared back at her. "Ah, not a slave then, at least, not any longer; no slave would have such obvious hate in their eyes. They keep that tightly under wraps."

She stood and left his sight, returning a moment later with a long stretch of old vine. She tossed it down to him, looping the other end of it around a heavy branch for leverage.

"Come on! Up you go!"

He didn't reach for his end and she finally peeked back over the edge.

"Problem?" she asked, then looked thoughtful. "Oh, wait. Do you understand me? Can you speak the common tongue?"

"I can," he answered stiffly.

"Well good, then grab the vine and climb up before the rain comes back. I'm wet to my skin and want a warm bath!"

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Your hero, elf, now take the vine, will you?"

"Who _are_ you?" he repeated in a snarl and she sighed, returning to the edge.

"I'm no slaver, if that's your worry. My name is Elena and I live close by," she explained. "I thought I saw something in the woods and decided to see what it was, and now, looking at you, I'd guess it was your hair that caught my eye. Come on, the weather is changing."

He did not move.

"Oh, for the Maker's bread and butter," she groaned. He watched as she tied her end of the vine and then returned to look down at him. "Listen, I've tied the other end, you can come up or stay in there, it's up to you. It's going to start raining again, and I've got to get home. If you're a runaway, don't go north, which is that way," she explained, pointing off in the distance. "That's the Imperium. Go south and don't stop until you hit water, and then take a boat out of the Marches. Good luck."

She turned on her heel and left.

He waited for some time and then, testing the vine, climbed up the wall and escaped the pit. Next to the vine was his Sword of Mercy, its hilt gleaming even with the darkened sky. Clearly the woman had made sure he would find it.

He did what he could to shake the mud from his armor; clumps seemed to be in nearly every crevice of the leather, each rivet dirty and scratched. Thunder rumbled overhead as the rain gave way to a powerful storm.

Lightning arced overhead as the wind gusted around him. He moved from the pit and found himself huddled once more beside the cluster of trees. As the darkness grew, his eyes spied a faint glow in the distance, and he wondered if it was the home Elena had referred to.

His instincts had him moving toward it as the storm was growing more severe and he was beginning to shake with cold. Soon he arrived at a modest clearing, a home nestled into the center of the hillside. He spotted an elven woman in the window, who seemed to sense him. She gaped and then darted from his view, only to return to it as she opened the front door.

"Come! Come!" she beckoned, gesturing him inside. Admitting he had little other choice, he crossed the threshold, the woman quickly closing the door behind him.

"Here, come sit, you poor thing," the elf cooed. "Elena!"

A man – an elf - appeared through a door, he too an elf. "Oh ho! Changed your mind, did you?" he asked Fenris with a smirk. "They always do," he observed, meeting the woman's eyes with a knowing grin. "I'll go get the mistress."

The hair on the back of Fenris's neck stood up at the use of the title. Had he walked into the home of a slaver? He stood to go, panic pumping through his veins.

"Hello," called Elena as she entered the room. "I'm glad you changed your mind and came. Olivia will get you something to eat and I'll fetch you some towels. Keegan, think you can you find him some clothes?"

Keegan nodded. "He looks rather brawny for an elf, don't he?"

Fenris shook his head. "You said you weren't a slaver," he snarled, taking a step back as she crossed the room.

She stopped short and placed her hands on her hips. "I'm _not_."

"Yet you have elves serving you and the man called you mistress."

Elena frowned. "No, I have two trusted _friends_ who I _pay_ very well to live here and help out. Keegan calls me mistress because he wants to."

The elven woman shook her head. "Listen, you're safe here. Elena isn't a slaver, she's a slave 'free-er'," she announced with a laugh. "You'll be fine with us, so just stop your worrying."

"Then why did you refer to the old pit as _yours_?" Fenris challenged.

"Because it's on my property and because I've used it for keeping a few slavers now and again. Seems the fitting thing to do, assuming I don't end up having to killing them in the first place. Now, have you got any other questions because you're really dripping on my rug."

He glanced down at his muddy feet. "You liberate slaves?"

"What's your name?" she asked. "And yes, that's what we do. We help."

He met her gaze for several loud heartbeats, noticing again how much he appreciated her beauty. "I am Fenris, and I am no runaway." He raised his chin. "I am _free_."

Elena smiled as Olivia rolled her eyes behind her.

"Welcome to our home, Fenris, a _free_ man," Elena said, her grin still full on her face. "Now, if you've decided we aren't trying to trick you, come and dry off. Dinner will be ready soon and Olivia will murder you if you get her good chairs all wet."

Taking the towel she offered, he relaxed and made ready for dinner, wondering just what he had discovered in the storm.

_**Want to guess what goes in this spot? LOL! Well, my typical, grovelling gratitude to the amazing Lisa for her talent and non-biased based suggestions, of course! **_

**_Thank you to everyone for their reviews, subscriptions, and 'favorites'. I'm thrilled that anyone is still reading this, and I truly hope that this story continues to be worth your precious time. I know I _don't_ get enough 'me' time, so if you've used any of yours to read this, I'm very honored. Thanks!_**


	27. Unexpected Developments

**Unexpected Developments **

The thirst was almost unbearable, but he couldn't seem to awaken to drink. All around him were lights, sounds and smells, but he couldn't find his focus and so those things simply blended together into chaos.

It was hot, so horribly hot. He wondered if someone had built a fire and he tried to move away, but he couldn't escape the heat, despite his struggles. Just as he was growing desperate, he found relief; something wonderfully cool caressed his face and pressed against his lips. He tried to suckle at the moisture as it passed his mouth, but he failed, his mind and body acting as if they were no longer one and the same.

He heard a woman, her voice the clearest of the sounds, but her words tumbled together. Despite this, he recognized urgency in it, and wondered what warranted her tone. His curiosity was sidetracked by the remarkable cold that enveloped his body and for a time he slipped into a quiet darkness.

Her voice woke him, and this time he could hear her clearly, recognizing the voice as that of the human woman, Elena. He listened to the worry in her tone and, feeling oddly compelled to settle her concerns, forced his eyes open and tried to move in order to offer his aid.

"Shhh, Fenris, lie still," she said softly, and he felt her small hands press against his chest, forcing him back. He marveled at how strong she was, holding him down as she was, and again opened his eyes. "Fenris, you're ill, very ill. You've a high fever and your breath is labored. We're going to help you, I swear it, but you must rest and not struggle. Keegan's gone for a healer."

He wished to assure her he was well, just too hot, but his words were only a series of grunts. He was confused and frustrated as he struggled to speak, but she quieted him with a gentle touch to his chin.

"Don't try to talk," she soothed. She pushed his hair from his face and smiled down at him, her thick blonde braid dangling over her slim shoulder. "Do you think you can drink? I've some ginger-water here," she said, showing him an earthen cup. "I'll help you sit up, alright?"

He shook his head, attempting to deny he needed her aid, but she kindly shushed him. "I know you're a proud man, but you're going to have to let us help, Fenris. There's no shame in being sick." She looked across the bed. "Olivia? Can you get his other shoulder? We can lift him on three. One…two…three," she grunted and, together she and Olivia pulled him to a seated position.

The water felt like his salvation as it slid down his arid throat. He felt it roll through his chest and into his belly, the sensation sending chills over him. He greedily butted his mouth against the rim of the cup and Elena responded, tipping the liquid back up.

"Elena, don't let him take on too much, dear, he may throw it all up," Olivia advised.

"The ginger should help with that," the human argued quietly, not taking the cup away from Fenris's lips. "Let him drink the cup's worth and then he can have a rest."

"It does him little good to drink it if he only dumps it onto the carpet," Olivia clucked.

He heard Elena sigh, and he moved his eyes to hers, their gaze meeting over the rim of the cup. For a moment he wondered at the shade of violet there, her eyes like none he'd ever seen, but he also saw the worry in them before she forced a brave smile.

"I've got to take the cup now, Fenris, I'm sorry. But you sleep, and I'll try and keep you cool."

The cup left his lips and he was slowly and carefully lowered back on to the pillows of the bed, her eyes still locked with his as she tucked him in. Fatigue assaulted him and his lids fluttered shut, the darkness behind them a welcomed thing.

"He's in a bad way, Elena, I've never seen a man fall ill so fast. He was fine just a few hours ago," he heard Olivia whisper as he slipped into the Fade.

"Yes, but you heard him at dinner," Elena replied. "He's been away from home for who knows how long, and he said he'd not had a hot meal in well over a week. With this blasted rain, and sleeping on the sodden ground, it was clear he was exhausted…"

"It doesn't bode well, though, how hard this has hit him," the elven woman said sadly. "Please don't get your hopes set on him making it."

"He's strong, Liv, look at him," Elena argued. "He isn't some half-starved runaway. This man is a warrior."

She pressed a wet cloth against his throat and ran it down his chest, and then settled onto the side of the bed, leaning against him.

"Elena, sweeting, _please_ don't get your heart into this. Even warriors die," the elven woman said softly.

"Yes, but not without a fight, they don't."

**xXx**

"How was it?" Sebastian asked his wife, who had only just returned.

It was nearly dark, the sun barely coloring the sky with its hues of pink and orange, and he'd expected both her and Goran to have returned hours earlier. Had Samson not sent word of their delay, he would have ridden out after them himself, his worry had grown so great.

She hurried past him and continued up the hall towards their apartments, ignoring his question. He spun on his heel and hurried after her as quickly as discretion allowed.

"Lorelai?" he called as he approached her, but she continued her deliberate and steady pace, not even looking at him. He soon matched her steps and together they entered their rooms, the doors to which he quickly shut.

"Darlin'?" he called but she darted into the water closet and he chuckled, realizing why she'd been in such a rush. A moment later, she returned, a bright smile on her face.

"Sorry!" she said. "I need to have one of those," she gestured to the door of the privy, "installed into the carriage!" she joked. "I'm sorry we're so late, Seb, but what a day!"

"How was it? Was Goran a problem?"

"Did you know he has thirty-seven different words for breasts? _Thirty-seven_! Who the hell knows _that_ many words for one part of the female body?" He stared lamely and she smirked. "Yeah, thought you'd be speechless at that one."

"Aye, I am," he said, shaking his head. "But did it go well?"

"It did! But I'll tell you, it's a good thing I didn't have a weapon on me, because during the ride out, I might have committed my first murder. He is, without a doubt, the most arrogant, juvenile, repulsive and dirty-minded man I've ever known!"

"Oh, Maker, Lorelai, I am sorry I sent you two together," he said with remorse. "I truly thought he'd behave."

"He did, but only once I'd popped him in his fat mouth. After that, he and I came to an understanding."

"What? You _hit_ him?" he said in shock, and then his eyes narrowed. "But why? Did he touch ye?"

"No, he didn't, and I'll admit, I probably didn't _have_ to punch him, but it felt _so_ good to finally do it."

"Uh, wait, if you…then _why_ did you?"

"Oh, he earned it, without a doubt," she explained. "And he straightened up after that, or at least he did once I threatened to blacken both his eyes as well. I think he's kind of scared of me now," she announced with a devilish smile.

"Are you telling me you…never mind, I'm not sure I want to know," he sighed as she blushed. "Was that the worst of it, then?"

"Mostly, although you've no idea how many limericks I learned, ugh."

He snorted. "Well then, aside from the limericks, how was the visit? Will a mob be arriving shortly with torches and pitchforks?"

She laughed. "Believe it or not, they _loved_ him."

"Come again?"

"He sat in the middle of the little green and drank with the old men while I toured the area," she related. "Honestly, he had them laughing like loons, you could hear it echoing in the schoolhouse! The younger men arrived and joined in, while their wives and children talked with me."

"Goran? They _liked_ Goran? He actually _helped_?"

"I was completely gobsmacked, but yes. Honestly, if he'd not been with me today I probably wouldn't have learned nearly what I needed to, everyone there would have been on tenterhooks with me, not to mention I barely understood a word said: this accent thing is killing me, Seb!"

He stared at her a moment longer and then spoke slowly. "Goran _Vael_? The man who thought the Orlesian ambassador's wife was a _man_? And then asked her what shaving soap she used? That Goran Vael?"

"One and the same. Apparently, being a brightly colored idiot is a plus with some crowds. Who knew?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Aye, who knew?" he repeated, incredulous at her report. "So, it helped, then, asking him to go with you?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, yes, it helped me a lot. The folks seemed quite nervous at first to have us there, but he set them at ease, and I ended up learning a great deal."

"And how are things at the school? Do the children have what they need?"

"The schoolhouse out there is in a wretched condition, their supplies are horribly outdated, and the curriculum is from when _I_ was taking my lessons," she explained with a heavy sigh. "Apparently there hasn't been any true support from the family in about six years, which is when the last of the grants ran out. At this point, the mothers are sharing teaching duties as best they can."

Sebastian shook his head. "It's a shame that something as precious as our youths' education has slipped through the cracks."

"I expect it didn't 'slip', not truly at least, but they're poor and unrepresented. Often, that's excuse enough to ignore them, isn't it?" she asked sadly.

"Not in my lands," he vowed. "As a lay brother, I saw far too many children in Kirkwall forced into gangs or other horrible situations because of their circumstances. I could do little about it then, other than offer aid with their most basic necessities, but I'm in a far greater position now. I will _not_ squander the future of Starkhaven's youth."

Lorelai grinned slowly and wrapped her arms around him. "I love it when you talk all 'good guy-ish'," she teased.

He blushed and kissed the top of her head. "I hardly think it makes me a 'good guy' for wishing to see those less fortunate than ourselves have a chance at a new life, and an education can do just that."

"Yes, it can," she agreed. "And I can attest to it, too. We never had more than a few coppers to rub together, even when my father was alive, but Mother always demanded that we know our lessons. I may not have been able to manage things as well I did – and certainly not once we'd earned the money we needed to leave Lowtown – had she not been so devoted to our learning."

"Those families have no idea how blessed they are in having you as their patron, Darlin'," he said, hugging her to him. "You've seen both sides of life, and have never forgotten your beginnings."

"Thank you," she replied, snuggling against him. "Perhaps I _have_ found something to keep me busy, after all, at least, something I can do until I'm not pregnant. In fact, I wanted to ask you something."

He cocked his head and waited.

"Goran said there are several areas on the outskirts of the city with farms," she began. "We'd like to investigate how many families are in those areas, and determine if more schools are needed, as well as fixing up and supplying for the current one. What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to clean my ears," he said, arching an eyebrow. "Because I think I heard you ask me what I think of you and Goran working together."

She stuck out her tongue. "Yuck, yuck, yuck," she giggled. "Yes, this would be something that he and I tackle together."

"I admire your willingness to do so, lass, but this is the kind of thing a committee would do."

"I realize that, but it serves many purposes, one of which is making me less of a pariah," she reasoned.

"Lorelai, love, time will soon see an end to the tales floating around out there."

"Maybe it will, or maybe if the folks in the locals had a chance to know me, to see me helping them, then they wouldn't listen to the latest nasty rumor about me in the first place. Perhaps they may even choose not to spread it, or even defend me a little. This could be a way to endear myself to the _real_ people of Starkhaven, and all the while helping out the people who truly need it."

He considered her words and nodded. "You make a fair point," he admitted. "And Goran knows you're including him? You're certain of this? I don't see him as the 'helping out' kind."

"He does, and you're right, normally he's not, but I think he had fun," she answered with a grin. "He thought we could go out again tomorrow, and head south this time. The harvest is about to begin, so we'd be able to go from farm to farm, and get a reasonably accurate count."

"Aye, as the family would need everyone at home to clear the fields," he noted. "Well thought out, Darlin'. Or was that Goran's idea as well?"

"No, that one I thought of all by myself," she smiled. "I _am_ a farmer's daughter, don't you know." She waggled her eyebrows. "Or, an apostate mage farmer's daughter, whatever, you get the idea."

"I do," he agreed and cradled her against him. "You're a good woman, Lorelai Vael, the people will honor you for it."

"Thank you, Seb, I want to help," she whispered, kissing his chin. "And thank you for today, you were right to send me with Goran."

"That may be the only time I'm right about anything regarding Goran, so I'm happy," he replied, before kissing her slowly. "You know, I'd forgotten I'd married a farmer's daughter, I've heard rumors about them," he said in a low tone, kissing her neck as he pulled the pins from her hair.

"Have you?" she gasped as he began to unlace her bodice. "Well, _I've_ heard a few things about Chantry boys, too."

His eyes flashed with heat and he slowly grinned at her, the last of the silk lacing over her breasts opening in his fingers, which then dipped under to tease her skin. "Just what have you heard?" he growled.

"That they really like the apostate mage farmer's daughter," she replied saucily, pulling his shirt free from his breeches.

"That we do," he grunted, opening her skirts before he led her to the bed. She laughed as he gently and carefully pushed her back onto it, before he climbed over her. "That we do!"

**xXx**

"No!"

Elena bolted upright and nearly fell out of the chair she'd been sleeping in. Panicked, she tried to understand what was happening.

"No! Do not touch her!"

Fenris was sitting up, his eyes open and wild, but unseeing.

Elena scrambled to her feet and grabbed the basin she'd been keeping his cool rags in. She rushed from the room as he continued to yell, and refreshing the water. Olivia opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

"It's fine!" Elena called to her as she returned to the warrior. "He's cooking alive and dreaming, or hallucinating, I'm not sure which!"

Olivia shook her head. "Poor man," she said, following Elena into the room. "Should I fetch Keegan?"

"No," Elena replied as she wrung out the rag. "We can get him if Fenris needs to be restrained, but I think he only needs to cool down. Damn, I wish the healer could have come today!"

Olivia agreed but lingered in the doorway, ready to call for the other elf should he be needed.

Elena climbed into the bed and pressed the cloth to Fenris's neck; he immediately grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Ouch!" she hissed, but didn't fight him. "Fenris, it's Elena. I'm here to help you, remember? You're sick, you've got a bad fever," she said gently. She sidled closer to his side and used her free hand to touch his chin. "But you're safe, you're just dreaming and it seems real because of the fever."

"Demon," he snarled, slapping away the hand she'd placed on his chin. "You're a demon, sent by _him_!"

"No, Fenris, I'm just a girl. I want to help you," she said sincerely. "You're hot, aren't you? Take the cloth from my hand, cool down. I've more water for you, too."

"I'll not drink your brew, demon," he grunted, but he was already growing weak and slumped slightly.

"Shhh," she whispered, encouraging him to lie back. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Fenris."

Olivia had taken up another soaked cloth and placed it against his cheek, leaning over the bedside as she did. His eyes moved to her, and he shivered. "Caging your own kind," he slurred, fixing her with a cold glare.

"Oh hush," she chastised. "Let us help you, you silly fool!"

"He has no idea what's he's saying," Elena defended. "Come now, Fenris, rest. You can fight again, once you're strong."

The muscular elf's head lolled as he clung to consciousness. Together, the women held him upright, gently urging him to drink what dribbles of water they could force through his lips. A few exhausting minutes later, Fenris was asleep, his chest covered with cold rags.

Keegan rapped on the doorframe. "Didn't want to interrupt and stir him up, but how's he doing?" the older elf asked, looking at the other man.

"Maker knows, his fever seems to keep climbing!" Olivia reported.

"We've only to get him through the next day or so," Elena reasoned. "The healer said he'd be here by then, right?"

"Yes," Keegan answered. "Looks like it will be a tricky time, though."

"You can say that again," Olivia complained. "And if the poor man lives that long, and, assuming the healer can even help him, then we're still going to be worrying over whether he's addled or not. A fever this high will do its fair share of damage, even if you do survive it!"

Elena touched the marking at Fenris's chin. "He was scared, wasn't he?"

Olivia shook her head. "More like angry, if you ask me."

"No," the human replied, shaking her head. "His tone was…well, it wasn't angry. It felt more like bluster, you know? The kind one does when they're really afraid?"

Keegan nodded. "You mean the kind of thing a cornered animal does? How a dog bridles or a cat fluffs itself?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it felt like to me," Elena said with a sigh. "It seems to me that our free elf may have been through quite a lot to get that way."

"Makes me want to make sure he gets through this," Olivia stated.

"I agree," said Keegan.

Elena scrubbed her face with her hands and stretched. "Good. Liv, let's get a broth going; he's going to need more than just water. Keegan?" The man looked at her and waited. "Is Penny Beckstrom's oldest girl still on her mother's farmstead?"

"That's what I hear," he replied. "Why?"

"Rumor is, she's doing that to stay out of the Chantry's sight," Elena explained. "If she's a mage, she might be able to make us some ice, that is, _if_ we can get her to trust us enough to do it."

"Her father and I get on well. I'll see what I can do at first light," he promised. "In the meantime, I'm awake and have no hope of falling asleep after all this commotion. Go get something to eat and take a quick rest. I'll call if he wakes."

Elena gazed back at the handsome elf with the strange markings, worry etched on her pretty face.

"He's fine, Elena, or at least resting," Keegan said gently. "There's no sense in killing yourself. I'll call you, I promise."

"Okay, but just until he wakes, or dawn, whichever comes first. Up 'til now, it's only been Olivia or myself he's heard. I'd worry how he'd react to a man's voice, especially since he mentioned a man sending us when he thought we were demons."

"Understood."

With a nod and a sigh, Elena left Fenris's room and staggered to her own.

**xXx**

Cameron rubbed his eyes, the fatigue of studying the receipts and ledgers of the treasury beginning to take its toll. But the sacrifice looked to soon pay off, as he thought he may have found the money trail.

It was very late, he'd already burned through two candles. With a great yawn, he stood and stretched before snuffing the candles and leaving his study.

There was no one about and he did his best to make his way quietly to his rooms. Marie was sleeping soundly when he arrived and he tip-toed through to the dressing room, where he quickly changed and silently climbed into bed.

"Hello," Marie whispered, reaching for him.

"Beauty, what are you doin' up still? Ye need your rest," he softly chided, shifting so he could hold her.

"Oh, I'm deciding if I'm in labor," she said casually.

He tensed but managed to not leap from the bed. Forcing an equally casual tone, he answered. "That's no' normally something one has tae 'decide', or so I've been led to believe."

She sighed. "I know, it's been a little frustrating," she said. "But nothing's happening with regularity yet, so I'm just waiting for something to change. How'd your digging go? Did you find something to help you and Sebastian out?"

He shook his head, amazed that she was asking him about his day, but was determined to play along. If she needed to act nonchalantly for now, he was game. "Well, actually, I did."

"You did? That's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "What did you find?"

He began to answer, but she hissed loudly and clutched at his hand, nearly breaking it in the process.

"Marie?" he asked softly, trying not to jerk his hand from her grip.

"No…no, it's already over," she rasped. "Damn it, it's like it gets going and I'm certain he's coming, and then the contraction just stops. I'm not sure what's going on yet, so keep talking, okay?"

"Woman, you've got tae be joking with me! Let me get Mrs. Hutchinson and send for the midwife!"

"Cameron Arthur Avery, I've done this a few times, you know! I'm not ready and all they'll do is poke and prod me until it's time to push, and as it's _not_ time to do that, it'll simply drive me mad. So _sit_ _still_ and tell me what you learned…ahhh!"

He kissed the top of her head. "Maker, but yer a bossy shrew," he whispered against her ear. Sitting behind, he cradled her as she rode through the contraction. "Marie, if ye have a few more like that, I'm gettin' the women, like it or no', do ye understand me?"

She shuddered. "Okay, but tell me first, it'll keep me busy if I've got something to figure out. It'll help with the pain," she breathed. "Give me the clues you followed."

"Aye, alright, my love," he agreed, but frowned, wishing she'd relent and let him send for aid. "Now, tell me, what are a few of the better known natural resources in Ferelden?"

"Uh," she shifted slowly, "Let me think. Silverite, copper, some spices, and, uh, lumber."

"Good lass. Now, have you ever heard o' it having any gold?"

"No, but I recall Mother saying Orlais spend years scouring the regions looking for it," she said before she threw her head back and blew out slowly, another contraction building.

"Breathe it out," he encouraged, talking softly to her as she reached the end of it. "One more, Beauty, and I'm sending for Mrs. Hutchinson."

She nodded but gestured for him to continue his explanation.

"You're right, Orlais invested a lot o' money and time trying tae find a vein o' gold somewhere in Ferelden," he said. "That's why the copper and silverite mines there are so well established; Orlais did the surveying for them."

"At least Orlais left something worth using behind: the stories my mother used to tell were awful. But why are you asking about gold?"

"Well, I found receipts here and there from a mining company our government is sponsoring in Ferelden, the totals o' which individually were rather minor," he explained. "But when I read the items purchased, I began tae wonder _why_ we were paying for a company in Ferelden to mine for _gold_. Odd, yes, but made even more so once when I saw it was for a mine in the _south_."

"The south? Wasn't that where the worst of the Blight was? Lorelai's hometown was in the south, wasn't it taken by darkspawn?" she asked. He nodded. "And does the math add up?"

"A good deal of it does, aye. Once I started tae track the receipts, I noticed random things that one by one don't draw your attention. But together, it's all a big pile o' coins."

"Like what?"

"The mine is apparently smack in the middle o' the wastes outside o' Lothering."

"That's the name of it! That's Lorelai's home." She began to pant and clutched him. "So?"

"The mine orders several hundred sifting pans a quarter."

"Cam, I'm trying hard not to scream in pain here, maybe you could just _tell_ me why that matters, please?"

"There's no river there."

"Oh, well yes," she groaned. "That would…_oh crap_...that would make those pans a tad useless. Ouch! Ahh!"

"Marie?" he asked gently, but again, she gestured for him to continue, so he did. "The items being ordered are small, like the pans, shovels, spades and such, but when they're ordered over and over again, each time _just_ under what would normally require the treasury's review, the money adds up, while no one here is the wiser."

"Meaning, of course, someone with knowledge of the rules is clearly behind this," she concluded and then snorted out a laugh. "Or not. Maybe they're simply very forgetful miners and lose their tools. Maybe their pans float downriver in the river that isn't there."

He chuckled. "I've an idea o' who that someone may be, but it warrants more lookin'."

"Really? Who?" she asked but grabbed at him as another painful wave gripped her. Once it had passed, he shifted behind her, packed pillows at her back to support her weight, and climbed from the bed.

"Marie, I love you, but I'm makin' a husbandly decision," he said as he placed a kiss to her cheek. "I'm sending for Mrs. Hutchinson, the midwife, and the bevy of females that'll come with them. I'll return tae ye soon, wench, so do _not_ have this bairn of ours until someone is in here, do ye hear me?"

She nodded rapidly and grinned. "You win, and I won't, I promise," she replied. "And _you_ make sure you come up with a decent name. I'm still drawing a blank for a boy, and I'll be too busy to think of one."

"That's because it's a _lass_, Marie," he said confidently. "And I was thinking 'Constance' might be a fine name for this one."

She giggled and then yelped as she contracted again. "It's a boy, Cam," she moaned, gritting her teeth in pain. "Now go get someone before you have to deliver him yourself."

She laughed as her brave husband - a father several times over - turned white, and ran from the room.

**xXx**

Varric moved quickly through Lowtown, the sun about to set.

He was grinning from ear to ear, eager to get back to the Hanged Man and his backroom office. He'd finally finished the last of the work he and Sebastian had agreed to, sprinkling the spiced up 'rumors' among a few choice gossips over the past two days. He'd done such a good job, he'd already had one of his favorite informants report the story back to him as if it were fact.

Things were coming together nicely.

His face still ached, but he was learning to ignore it, and the new scar over his right eyebrow was going to really stand out, something he knew would go over well with the ladies. Merrill had even commented that she thought he looked a tad more dashing, something which, upon reflection, meant she must have _already_ considered him dashing, and _that_ tidbit was another thing that warranted reflection.

But not tonight. Tonight, the only reflection he intended to focus on was his own handsome face in his tankard of ale.

No matter what, he was going home to the tavern, having a pint or seven with a few of the regulars, and truly taking a night for himself. Aside from his typically hectic schedule, worsened by his absence, he'd done everything he could to look after Hawke, he'd dispatched runners to the remote village where Fenris had sent word from, and he'd even set aside a day this week to go and speak with the seeker Aveline was still frothing at the mouth about. He'd been a hard working dwarf, and, as they say, all work and no play makes Varric a very dull dwarf indeed.

He turned the last corner, coming up from the docks and hurried through the warehouse district. On impulse, he cut through a small alleyway toward the alienage, thinking to see if Merrill wanted to join him.

"Varric Tethras?" called a voice from behind him.

He halted and turned slowly, his hand pulling Bianca from over his shoulder as his eyes met those of the man who'd addressed him.

"Who's asking?" Varric asked, his eyes narrowed as he took in the measure of the other man. In an instant, he knew he was dealing with a templar, the hulking heavy plate giving the man away.

"I am," the human answered. "Are you Tethras?"

Varric shrugged casually. "Nope. But I hear he likes to hang around Hightown a lot, so why don't you go look for him up there?" Not waiting for the templar to reply, he turned on his heel to leave the alley.

"Because I'm fairly certain you _are_ the Varric Tethras I'm searching for," replied the man. "Stand down your weapon and halt!"

Varric didn't stop, but replied over his shoulder. "Wrong guy, Ser Templar! Have a good night!"

He had only a few steps left before he cleared the alley, but the templar shouted, and the exit was immediately closed off by a wall of plate mail. "Well shit," he muttered, stopping abruptly. "Howdy, fellas! Excuse me, I was just heading that way," he said, pointing beyond them.

The wall of men didn't reply, but the templar behind him did. "I don't believe you will, ser. You're going to come with us, Messere Tethras, Seeker Pentaghast requires you attend her. Now."

Varric forced a grin as the space between him and the templars grew smaller. "Watch it there, fellas, I've had enough close encounters lately with you tin can types to make me a little jumpy. I'd hate to put a hole in one of you," he said, adjusting Bianca. "So why not step aside, and let me pass. I'll go see your boss when I'm damned good and ready."

The templar frowned. "I thought you said you _weren't_ Varric Tethras."

"Who, me?" Varric replied, giving him his best innocent look. "I thought you said you were looking for _Eric Vespa_! He's a cagey son of a bitch." As casually as he could, he slid back the bolt in Bianca. "My mistake."

"The crossbow, ser, hand it over," the templar demanded as the sound of several blades drawing at once echoed in the alley.

"Nope, not going to happen, boys. Now, as I'm a citizen of Kirkwall who hasn't recently broken any of its laws, and you're _not_ the city guard, y'all need to get the hell outta my way."

"Messere Tethras, there are five of us, and one of you. I strongly recommend you desist and comply."

Varric sneered. "Well, sure, there're five of you, sure, but you're all a bunch of knuckleheads who are limited by your lack of imagination and intelligence. Whereas _I_ may only be _one_ man, but I'm a whole lot smarter than all of you put together, not to mention better looking." he scoffed. "So, really, it's more like there's ten of me and one of you. See?"

With a flick of his hand, he deployed a small smoke bomb he always kept inside his sleeve and the alleyway filled with thick, opaque smoke. Varric immediately darted past the templars, slamming the butt of Bianca's handle in the side of one templar's knee. The man, though unhurt, toppled sideways, and as Varric escaped, he smiled at the sound of scraping armor and chaos behind him.

Racing as fast as he could, he rounded two corners, hurried past the Hanged Man and retraced his footsteps back down to the warehouse district. There, he scurried though a side door in one of the smaller buildings and cut through it; there was an office in another building over that he rarely used, and he hoped the templars didn't know about it.

Except, he realized as he spotted a flash of gleaming armor between the crates, that they did.

"Crap!" he whispered and spun on his heel to leave, only to have a gauntlet clad fist slam into his cheek. His face exploded in agonizing pain and he nearly fell to the floor with it, but he was grabbed from behind. He was then roughly hauled up, and two men lifted him from under his arms, his feet barely touching the wood floor.

"What's with you people and hitting folks in the face?" Varric snapped, shaking his head. "Holy shit, that hurt!"

"Messere Tethras, I presume?" asked a tall woman, clad in full plate armor and a stern frown. "My apologies, but it's been rather hard to get your attention. Hopefully ser, we now have it. You've a meeting, Tethras, one that you will no longer put off. Take him to Hightown, to Seeker Pentaghast. She's at the Hawke estate."

Without further ado, the group of templars departed for Hightown, dragging a very irate dwarf between them.

_**I owe each of you kids a GIANT apology. I basked and loved each and every review, and then, replied to not ONE of you, which is bad form and very rude. I offer the pathetic excuse of one kid breaking a bone, followed by a sick kid, a crazy work week, and kids FINALLY going back to school, along with the other usual insanity that is my otherwise happy life. I blanked, pure and simple, and I am very, very sorry. It will not happen again.**_

_**That said, let me very lamely thank you all for your kind and generous reviews. They really do put a spring in my step, and I feel wretched to have not told y'all that.**_

_**Lastly, but by FAR NEVER EVER LEASTLY, (LOL, she'll hate that and want to beta it, ha!) my gratitude to my amazing beta, Lisa. Her sweet doggie is having surgery today, and it'd be great if we'd all send a little puppy prayer out for him. Really, he's about the coolest dog that ever drooled. **_


	28. When Good Healers Are Hard to Find

**When Good Healers Are Hard to Find**

Evening was upon them and the soft rumbles of another storm disturbed the calm within the modest home. Elena watched the handsome elf as he slept. His fever was beginning to waver, and his sleep seemed more restful than fitful.

She'd slept for several hours that morning, Keegan and Olivia having kept watch over their sick guest. She'd awakened to discover that Keegan had found success at the Beckstrom farm. The family there, kind but reclusive so as to protect their apostate daughter, had been persuaded to help, and he'd returned with a small cart of ice. Soaking blankets in water, they'd crushed it and packed it against Fenris's roasting form.

It had been a brutal process and the warrior, though deathly ill, had struggled violently against the cold, but they'd overpowered him, and eventually he'd been subdued.

Judging by the apparent cessation of his hallucinations, Elena knew the ice had likely taken Fenris through the worst of his fever. Tomorrow would bring the healer, assuming she didn't meet anything or anyone to impede her travels, and her arrival would herald an end to his illness.

It couldn't come soon enough.

Olivia had scolded her countless times over the dangers of welcoming strangers into their home. She'd argued they could help the runaways by providing them with food and supplies, that shelter only made them a target for the slavers' ire, and was an unnecessary risk to all of them. Time and time again, her beloved friend had warned her she cared too much, that her heart wasn't big enough to save them all.

Elena had learned it was best to let Olivia vent her spleen, and then, with a few inconsequential concessions, continue right on with what Elena knew was her Maker given purpose. She'd always been the kind of person eager to help others, ready to defend, feed and or hide the poor wretches who'd found their way to them.

Yet she found that her strong reaction to this particular man surprised her.

She worried greatly for Fenris, worried as if they were friends, as if she'd known him far longer than the meager two days since she'd found him in the pit.

When he'd refused to allow her to pull him up, she'd known the only course was to leave him alone, but each step she'd taken away from him had been difficult, and she'd been truly relieved when he'd arrived at the house not long after.

She'd been in a near panic when he had misunderstood her relationship with Keegan and Olivia, and it had been all she could do to keep herself reasonable as she explained things to him. Once he'd agreed to stay, their conversation at dinner and thereafter had been comfortable, and she'd found herself wishing the evening hadn't ended as soon as it had.

He was an unusual man, and it was more than his markings that made him so. Something about his reserved manner convinced her that he was holding something back. His even tone and educated speech were well styled and gracious, but she couldn't help but feel that his demeanor was practiced, and perhaps not truly his nature.

_Restraint_, she thought, that was the best word. The handsome man was a study in it.

She knew herself well enough to admit her initial wish to help him had been bolstered by his strong resemblance to a long-dead friend. If Fenris had darker hair and a slighter build, he could have been the mirror image of a slave her family had owned, Xavier.

Xavier had died years ago, but his murder still clouded her dreams some nights, and the injustices he'd endured still fueled her passion to aid as many slaves as she could.

Leaving her family and Tevinter behind should have been a staggering decision, but it was one made easy by Xavier's death, and necessary by her then new-found faith. Learning the Chant as it was taught _outside_ of her homeland had changed everything for her. Once she understood that the Tevinter way of life, that the use of demons and slaves were sins, and therefore abhorred by the outside world and the Maker, her whole life had changed.

She'd been fighting ever since, fighting for those subjected to the twisted ways of the Magisters, and fighting for her own salvation in the process.

Slavery had been a part of her life since her first cries had sounded, the midwife who'd overseen her very birth aided by her enslaved helpers. Her mother and father had little interest in their young family, their lives consumed with more pressing concerns, such as status, wealth and power.

Her nanny and her tutors had been the people who'd shown her true kindness and love. It had been her elven nanny, a slave, who'd kissed her scraped knees and soothed her nightmares, and had done so with genuine concern and affection.

It had been her tutors who had supported her dreams, who'd empowered her wishes for learning and greater understanding. It had been the household staff who'd cheered her on as she'd mastered riding a horse, or helped her practice her archery or dancing, and it had been those loving and humble people who'd shown her the meaning of compassion.

Her father was a powerful magister, her mother the daughter of one, and her brother an up-and-coming mage, well-connected and eager for dominance amongst his peers. Elena was the daughter who had no magic, a regretful occurrence in most families, one that could only be corrected with a calculated marriage.

Growing up in her family's rambling mansion, her mother had ensured she'd learned what it meant to be a lady and how to use her wiles against a man, but outside of those 'necessary' skills, her mother had little time for her.

Her father, though moderately kind and always disinterested, had simply smiled as he patted her patronizingly on the head, half-heartedly pretending to listen to her latest success on a hunt or with a lesson before he looked to escape her company by calling for some servant to take her away.

The truth was, she had no magic and they had no ability to see the value of anyone who lacked it. They didn't _see_ her and didn't care to. Her parents weren't monsters; they never hit or abused her. No, indifference was their brutal response to their lackluster child.

Sighing at the memories, she stood and stretched, realizing the broth she'd set to steep over the fire should be ready. Fenris had been asleep for several hours and she hoped he'd be willing to eat. She put together a small tray of items in the kitchen and returned to his bedroom, placing the tray on the bureau.

"Fenris?" she said softly, touching his shoulder.

The elf didn't stir, and after a few more quiet attempts to wake him, she smiled. "Fine, you, sleep a bit longer, but I'll insist you eat soon." She left the room, taking the tray back to the kitchen, and returned the broth to its pot.

Returning to the room, she gasped to see Fenris staggering from the bed.

"Fenris! What are you doing? Let me help you!" she cried, rushing to his side. She wrapped her arms around his naked waist and tried to guide him back to the bed.

"No!" he rasped, trying to shove her away. "You've done something to me," he panted, struggling against her. "Why can't I wake? You've poisoned me, witch! You're trying to return me to him!"

She grunted, for even in his weakened state, the warrior was solid and strong against her smaller weight. "Fenris! Wake up!" she begged, her words barely a whisper as she strained to push back at him. "Fenris! Stop this! You're ill! It's the fever!"

"Get away from me! I will not submit!" he snarled, swinging wildly as he tried to dislodge her grip. His fist connected soundly with her cheek and her head whipped sideways, her feet tangling in his as she stumbled backwards. She tumbled to the floor.

"What in the Void?" Olivia cried from the door, having heard the commotion. "Keegan!"

Fenris's eyes snapped up from the woman on the floor and met those of the human's female slave. "Move, woman! I will not be Danarius's pet again!" he shouted, stepping menacingly towards her.

The other man pushed past the woman, who hurried past Fenris and knelt at her mistress's side.

"Keegan! Stop him!" Olivia cried, helping her mistress to stand up. "Oh my! He's hurt her!"

Fenris glared at the man in his path, the women behind him continuing to talk.

Keegan blocked the doorway and hunkered down, ready to fight. "Back in the bed, mate! You're addled from the sickness, that's all! Get back in the bed and I won't thump you!"

Fenris screwed his eyes shut. "No…no, I…why would you stop me? Let me pass, I beg you!"

"Fenris! Please!" Elena hurried forward, cradling her right cheek, but she grasped at Fenris's elbow with her left.

He jerked back but staggered, and she steadied him. Looking at her small hand on his tan skin, he shook his head, staring down. Her hand didn't look like Hadriana's, it was smooth and free of scars. Everything was quiet as he considered this and slowly, his gaze followed the hand on his arm up to its owner's face.

"Elena?" he rasped, wobbling on his feet. "How did you get here? Where…where did the witch go?"

"Oh, Maker, thank goodness!" Olivia breathed.

Elena clutched at Fenris, her hand dropping from her cheek as she righted him. "Yes, it's me, Fenris. You're in our home, sick from your search for the mage, Anders, the one who hurt your friend, Hawke. We've been taking care of you."

"I cannot…I cannot think." He studied her swollen cheek and frowned, reaching out to graze the lump with his thumb. "How?"

"Let's sit, alright?" she suggested softly, her voice calm. "I've some broth for you, and we can clean you up before you rest again, how does that sound?"

Keegan arrived at his other side and together they moved to the foot of the large bed, settling Fenris down gently, Elena tucked against his side. Keegan untangled himself and frowned down at them.

"We ought to tie him, you know, he's strong as an ox!"

Elena shook her head, taking Fenris's arm from her shoulders as she did. "No, he knows it's us, now," she said kindly, smiling at Fenris before she winced from the pain in her face. She stood, touched her cheek and righted her clothes before brushing her hair back from her eyes.

Olivia touched Elena's chin and arched an eyebrow disapprovingly. "I'll go see if there's any ice left," she grumbled before leaving the bedroom.

"You alright?" Keegan said to Elena, whose pallor was now slightly green.

"Well, besides a hell of a headache and a strong desire to vomit up my lunch, yes," she replied, keeping her voice low. "Maker, that hurt, he knocked the snot out of me."

"I can sock him one time for you, if you'd like," Keegan replied. "Or you could kick him in the daddy bags."

She started to laugh but stopped, placing a hand on her belly as she blanched. "Ugh. No, we both know he didn't mean to." Keegan frowned but said nothing else, and she placed her hand on his forearm. "I'm going to get his tray, before I toss up my biscuits."

Fenris, having not heard their quiet exchange, sagged against the footboard, glancing up as Elena departed and met the gaze of his fellow elf. "How long have I been unwell?"

"Unwell? More like at death's door, and you've lingered there for two days, mate. I'm surprised you're alive, to be honest," Keegan replied. "But then, Elena's a stubborn git, which you'd best thank the Maker for. She had me haul ice from three kilometers away just to cool you down."

Slowly, Fenris nodded. "I am grateful to you," he said, his exhaustion apparent with each word.

"Good. Keep your fists to yourself, then, and we'll be square."

Fenris frowned. "I do not understand…" he began, his words faltering as Elena breezed back into the room, a tray in her hands, and Keegan quietly stepped aside to allow her to reach the bedside table.

"Here we are," she said, trying to arrange the pillows and coverlets at the headboard before she gripped it to steady herself. She slowly turned back to the men. "Up you go. We'll settle you in so you can have a proper brew and some broth, then we'll see how you're feeling."

Keegan hoisted Fenris under his arms and pulled him to the head of the bed. Elena tucked him in and adjusted the pillows and blankets before she sat at the bedside, and ran her cool hand over his forehead and cheek.

"That's better, though you're still warm," she said with a nod. She glanced back at Keegan. "The ice may have saved the day, Keegan. Thank you again for making the trek."

The other man bowed his head slightly. "Of course."

Holding the bowl of broth, she dipped the spoon below the steaming surface.

"I am not hungry," Fenris confessed.

"Eat anyway," she replied. "You can't get better if you've no food in your belly. Besides, I made this myself, and it's the only thing I can cook that doesn't wind up tasting like old boots."

Keegan chuckled. "That's for damned sure."

Elena smiled and shot a mock-dirty look at Keegan, who held up his hands in defense. "He seems settled down. I'll go check on Olivia," the elven man said and left the room.

"Are you well, Elena?" Fenris asked as she looked at him. Something was amiss and he was disturbed by a sense of uneasiness.

"I'm fine, really. Now, Keegan wasn't joking about my cooking," she confessed. "It's akin to poison, or torture, really. But I _can_ boil water, and Olivia tasted this batch of broth, and, as you saw, _she's_ still standing."

Fenris's lips curled in a slight smile as he nodded. "Then I would be remiss in turning down such a treat."

For the next several minutes, she remained silent as he ate. He finally sighed and she stood, taking back the bowl and placing it on the table. She again checked his temperature, leaning in close to do so. He studied her cheek.

"Who struck you?" he whispered hesitantly, greatly bothered by her injury. He recognized a fresh blow when he saw one.

"You scared us, Fenris. Falling sick as fast you did," she commented, ignoring his question. "You're still running a fever, but I think you're on the mend."

"I cannot thank you enough for your care," he said sincerely. "I am not prone to sickness, and though I do not recall much, I feel as weak as a newborn babe."

She shrugged. "Well, you've eaten next to nothing, and barely drank anything. You've been asleep and dreaming, without really waking, since the night you arrived."

"I…I would not call them dreams," he confessed, looking away from her.

"Memories?"

He didn't answer and she let the matter drop. "Either way, you're awake now, cooler, and you've eaten. The healer arrives tomorrow, so with that, hopefully, you'll be on your way back to good health." She stood and started to gather the tray when Olivia returned to the room.

"There's no ice left, but I've a poultice here," the older woman said, pressing a small sack against Elena's puffy cheek. "You go, hold that in place. I'll help our guest."

"Yes, Mother," Elena said cheekily, and Olivia swatted at her with a dish rag before Elena half-heartedly smiled at him. "For what it's worth, I'm very glad to see you better," she whispered, brushing her hand over his temple before turning to leave the room.

He heard Olivia huff out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head as she moved about the room, cleaning up and gathering soiled linens.

"Thank you, madam, for your care," he said.

"As if she'd _let_ you die, the foolish girl," she muttered under her breath as she picked up his tray. "You rest now; I'll be in to check on you in a bit."

"Please, how did Elena-"

"Rest now," she interrupted in a hard tone. "There will be time to talk later," she said and departed, closing the door behind her.

**xXx**

Mrs. Hutchinson paced by the bedside, her lord's wife still struggling with her labor. Little progress was being made, and Marie was beyond exhausted, her fierce but futile contractions were now barely keeping her awake. Her wails were horrific, but now little more than half-hearted pleas.

Mrs. Hutchinson had long since banished Cameron to the nursery, desperate to keep their knowledge of her dire situation as limited as possible. He'd returned twice, but she'd finally barked angrily at him that his daughters needed him, and, scared at her words and ferocity, had not been seen since.

Marie whimpered pathetically, her color nearly that of her sheets, and Mrs. Hutchinson hurried to her side. "Ma dearest lass, please be strong," she begged softly. "This bairn is nearly here, dinnae give up!"

Marie's glassy eyes met hers for a moment. "I can't…" she whispered. "He's…I don't want to lose Cam's son."

"Och! Bless ye ma darlin', we can't lose _ye_!"

"Bailey," said Margaret, the head midwife. Mrs. Hutchinson turned at her given name, and Margaret beckoned to her. Tucking Marie in gently, she waddled over.

"Aye? What'll we do? It's goin' tae kill her soon," Mrs. Hutchinson rasped, her voice trembling.

"I felt inside, and I touched a foot, and it's high."

"Oh, Maker, it's breech?"

"We've got to cut the bairn out, Bailey, or we'll lose them both," Margaret said in a low voice. "I've done it before, but never without a healer at my side! There's no bloody Circle in Starkhaven, we've got to find an apostate!"

"An apostate?" Mrs. Hutchinson gaped. "Are ye mad? There's no way an apostate will be answerin' a plea fer help at such a great man's home!"

"This is no small thing I've got tae do, Bailey!" Margaret answered frantically. "Without a healer, I dinnae know if I can stop the bleeding! I'm no' even sure I can sew her up proper!"

"Another midwife, then? Wha' about someone from the alienage?"

Margaret nodded. "That might be possible, they hide their healers well. Would the lady be upset at havin' an elf here?"

"No, ye fool! She'd be upset at _dyin'_!"

"Gloria! Anna!" Margaret called, the decision made, and two younger women hurried over to them. "Go to the alienage, now, and take a guard or two with you! We need an experienced midwife, and when you get her, tell her the lady can't birth the babe and we'll pay good gold for a healer as well, no Templars and no trouble, on the house's honor!"

The two women hastened to grab their wraps and hurried from the room.

Mrs. Hutchinson sighed. "I'll go, see if any of the scullery girls who live at the alienage are still about. If they've not left for the night, they may be able to tell your two lasses who to seek."

"Good idea, Bailey," Margaret agreed, and then glanced over at Marie. "It's goin' to be close. We may lose her yet."

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded and patted Margaret's hand. "She's a strong lassie. Let me get to the kitchens."

A few minutes later, Mrs. Hutchinson arrived in the scullery, pleased to see that three women, who she knew resided in the alienage, had yet to depart. Explaining her urgent errand, all three, each concerned and having a fondness for their kind employer, hurried to join with the two ladies and guard before they left.

The halls were quiet as Mrs. Hutchinson followed them back up to the main house. Stopping at her desk, she penned a small note and folded it, sealing it quickly and blowing on the setting wax as she went to the front of the home.

"Edgar!" she called, and a young footman scurried over. "Take this tae the Palace, and go immediately. Tell His Highness's staff it's an emergency, and that Lord Avery begs him tae come as promptly as he can. Go!"

Her voice had carried through the large, open room, and a few others of the staff couldn't help but overhear. Mrs. Hutchinson sighed. "The rest of you, it's goin' tae be a very long night. Eat an' then freshen yerselves, the Prince will be arrivin' shortly."

"Please, Mrs. Hutchinson?" called out a young maid. "How's Lady Avery?"

Mrs. Hutchinson shook her head. "She's in need of yer prayers, each o' ye. If yer a Maker fearin' person, take a moment to ask fer His mercy…on all o' us."

Silence fell as she hurried past, taking the steps as fast as she could. It was time to tell Cameron, and prepare her precious family for the worst.

**xXx**

Varric was dragged to Hightown, each attempt he made to even place his feet on the ground met with a quick threat or twist of his restrained arms. He felt a jolt of shock run through him as he realized that their destination was clearly Hawke's boarded up estate, though it was obviously not as boarded up as it should have been.

The main door was unceremoniously booted open by one of the thug templars, and they moved through the entrance quickly. The main room was dark, the high windows still covered, but the fireplace was lit, and he saw a lone chair sitting in the center of the room.

He was thrown into it.

Shaking his head, he saw a woman step from the shadows. "I've had gentler invitations," he complained with a shake of his head.

"Yes, you have, though you refused them," she countered, and he noted she was holding a thick book. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry."

"And just what are you 'seeking'?" he asked, flashing a smooth smile.

"The Champion."

"Which one?" he replied airily, glancing at his gloved hands.

"You know exactly why I'm here!" she barked, smashing the book into his already battered face and slamming it down into his lap. She drew a small blade and pressed it to his throat. "Time to start talking, Dwarf! They tell me you're good at it," she finished scathingly before she stabbed her dagger through the volume, barely missing his thigh in the process.

Varric carefully picked up the book and stared at it. He drew a ragged breath. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Start at the beginning."

And so he did, only to have the Seeker snapping at him. "Bullshit! That's not what really happened!"

"Does that not match the story you've heard, Seeker?"

"I'm not interested in _stories_!" she said, pacing in front of him. "I came to hear the truth!"

Varric snorted. "What makes you think I know the truth?"

"Don't lie to me!" she shouted, surging forward and leaning over him. "You knew her even before she was the Champion!"

He held up his hands. "Even if I did, I don't have anything to do with her life now."

"Do you have any idea what's at stake here?"

He sat forward, his tone smug. "Let me guess. Your precious Chantry has fallen to pieces and put the entire world on the brink of war? And you think she's the one person who can put it back together?"

"The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began," Cassandra said calmly. "I _must_ understand, don't you see? Tell me everything you know."

"You aren't worried I'll just make it up as I go?"

She pinned him with a scathing glare. "_Not at all_."

The rogue smiled, sitting back. "You'll need to hear the _whole_ story."

"Then tell me."

**xXx**

"Your Highness?" called the voice of a footman, who was knocking at the door of their suite.

Sebastian frowned at the interruption of his privacy with his wife, who was currently tucked against his side, their legs happily tangled together, as they talked of their day. "Enter!" he answered, and the footman gingerly opened the door.

"Forgive me," he pleaded politely, bowing quickly. "It's a note from Lord Avery, ser. I was told it was an emergency."

Lorelai scooted off of him and Sebastian hurried to meet the other man halfway. "Thank ye," he said, ripping open the small seal. "Maker have mercy," he muttered, before looking up at the footman. "Our reply is yes, we're coming right away!"

Lorelai was already moving to the dressing room. "What's happening? What's wrong? Is something wrong with the baby?"

He walked past her, grabbing his jerkin and pulling it over his head. "I don't know, Darlin'. All the note said was to come fast, they're losing her," he explained, helping her into her shoes. "The handwriting is Mrs. Hutchinson's, not Cameron's."

"Losing her?" she repeated, biting her lip with worry. "Who? The baby or Marie? It can't be Marie…I mean, this is the fourth delivery! What could go wrong?"

"Anything and everything," he sighed. "Are ye ready?"

Lorelai nodded, and, taking Sebastian's hand, they raced from their rooms.

_**Thank you, Lisa! I'm VERY happy to report to y'all that her sweet puppy came through his surgery with flying colors, and Lisa was very grateful for everyone's well-wishes. Now let's say some puppy prayers for his incontinence, LOL!**_

_**Thank you to all of you for reading, subscribing, and taking the time to add this story to your favourites list. I am very appreciative to everyone for their support, and your kindness keeps me motivated! Cheers!**_


	29. No More Hand-Me-Downs

**No More Hand-Me-Downs**

Aveline paced her office, the new day's business ignored on her desk. Donnic watched her impassively, knowing it normally did little good to try to stop her fretting, but this time he was fighting the urge to join her.

"It's been almost eight hours, Donnic," she muttered. "_Eight_ _bloody_ _hours_ since he was spotted being dragged into Hawke's place! What could possibly take eight hours?"

"It _is_ Varric, my love. It's possible he's simply rambling on," he suggested, forcing his tone to be as casual as possible.

"Of all the…I mean, to snatch him off the street? That harpy has a set of brass balls!"

"She does, but you and I both know she gains nothing from harming Varric," he said reassuringly. "She felt strongly that Varric would be able to fill in much of the missing information she must have. He's more than likely just fine."

"She had no bloody right to take him like that!"

"That's true enough," he admitted. "But there's nothing we can do now but wait it out. We cannot interfere, Wife, not if we wish to avoid being seen as an enemy. Things here are deadly enough without pissing off the Divine any further."

"The wrath from pissing off _one_ seeker seems a picnic compared to what's really in store for us! The Divine is just waiting until the time is right to strike us all down," Aveline replied scathingly. "She's…"

"Darling, you're speculating, and in this case, you _need_ to stop. We don't know what the Chantry's going to do," he argued calmly. "Let Varric answer their questions, and you shouldn't underestimate his ability to discern things from their questions, either. He may learn nearly as much as the seeker."

"You make a good point," she conceded sourly. She blew out a pent-up breath, crossing her arms. "So we should just sit here and wait for some old woman to decide what's to become of all of us?"

He nodded. "We wait and we watch, like we always have. If we're any good at what we do, which we _are_, we'll see the trouble before it arrives."

"That's my point, Donnic! It's already here."

"Not now he's not, it isn't," he countered. "No. He _was_ here, yes, but now who knows where the bastard is? We _don't_, neither does Hawke, and _that's_ what this is really all about. Where's Anders and what's he up to? What is he planning to do to them next? _That's_ why she's really here, Aveline. To destroy the rebellion before it can rally around its martyr."

She snorted. "Martyr, my arse."

"It's how they see him, you know, the people who agree with what's been done."

"How can anyone support what he did? Bloody hell, Donnic! Had Anders attacked the Gallows, or the Templars at the chantry that day, then yes, _perhaps_ that is something to be called war! But to lay a trap and blindly kill whichever hapless bastard falls into it? There's no justice there, and certainly no honor."

"What we think of Anders is irrelevant. Until the Chantry is satisfied that we, as his associates, and the people of Kirkwall _didn't_ aid Anders, until they trust we _don't_ support him still, and until they are absolutely certain we didn't somehow facilitate his successful flight thereafter, we're the only target for their ire, aren't we?"

"Us and Hawke."

Donnic nodded. "Yes. Us and Hawke."

Aveline sighed, finally standing still. "How long before we could send a runner to check on Varric? I want her to know we know where he is."

"And you want to know he's alright."

"So do you," she replied.

He smiled sadly. "Let's give it another hour, and we'll send Humphreys over, alright?"

She drummed her fingers on her desktop, thinking. "A whole hour?"

"Yes, darling. One whole hour."

She frowned but sighed. "Let's go through the morning reports."

**xXx**

Sebastian and Lorelai arrived at the Avery home in record time, their ride made in frightened silence.

Sebastian leapt from the carriage, offered his hand to his wife, who, once on the ground, gave him a nudge. "Go. I'll catch up."

Sebastian shook his head, taking her arm. "Come, we'll learn what's happening together."

Mrs. Hutchinson greeted them at the base of the main staircase, her hands fisted in her apron. "You two, come with me. Cam and the lasses are in the nursery," she said tightly before she turned and hastened up the stairs.

Once at the top and out of the foyer, Sebastian reached out and placed a hand gently on Mrs. Hutchinson's arm, stopping her. "Mrs. Hutchinson, what's happening? Your note was…"

"Vague?" she rasped, nodding. "Aye, it was. Oh Maker, I…" she paused and sighed raggedly. "The bairn is breech, Sebastian, and Marie's strugglin' to stay with us."

"Maker, have mercy," he muttered. "What's the midwife say?"

"She's feels we've no choice but to cut the babe from her," Mrs. Hutchinson replied in a somber tone.

"But that's not so unusual," Lorelai observed. "My father aided in a few such deliveries when I was a girl."

Sebastian shook his head. "There's no Circle in Starkhaven."

"There was no Circle in Lothering, either," Lorelai quickly pointed out. "Surely there's an apostate somewhere. They can't _all_ have been members of the Circle; there are many parents who wouldn't send their children, no matter the rules. What of the alienage?"

"We've much the same thought, dear, and I sent some o' our wash girls with the midwife's helpers tae the alienage," Mrs. Hutchinson explained. "We're hopin' that they'll have a healer there, it's no' uncommon for the elves tae hide their mages among themselves."

"Then all may not be lost," Sebastian said with a hopeful voice.

"And what apostate in his right mind would_ bloody well come here?"_ thundered a voice, and all three turned to see that Cameron was standing at the far end of the hallway. He was pale, his eyes full of fear and his handsome face twisted in a sneer. "What mage will come an' aid us, Lorelai?" he demanded. "Who would help the wife o' the pious Prince's advisor?"

Sebastian hurried toward him. "Cameron, please, you cannot lose faith!"

"Faith? I can bag my damned faith, pal, but I cannae lose my wife!" he cried miserably, his face contorted in agony. "I cannae, Seb, I cannae lose her! I…I…"

"You won't! You _won't_, Cam," Sebastian vowed passionately. He pulled his tall friend into a bear hug. "Stop this, Cam, she's still alive and she's a brave lass. Do _not_ give into the fear, man."

Cameron stepped away and turned his back to them, his shoulders slumped. Quietly, he reached up and braced his hands on the wall, leaning forward, his head hanging low. "Lorelai, would ye mind visitin' with the girls?" he asked in a small voice without looking at them.

"Yes, of course," she replied readily. "Do they…" she paused, searching for the right words. "I want to help. But I don't want to…do they know what's happening? I mean, what have you told them?"

"No, dear, we've told them nothin'," Mrs. Hutchinson answered softly. "They only know their mama's havin' the baby. They're excited."

Nodding, she strode with purpose down the hallway, slipping silently into the nursery. The children's happy greetings were heard just as she shut the door.

"Cameron, the lasses should have ye…" Mrs. Hutchinson began but he cut her words off instantly.

"Don't," he hissed, his hands still planted flat on the wall. "_Don't_ tell me how tae do this. I dinnae care what any of ye think, I will _no'_ be kept from Marie any longer," he stated. "If she's going tae die, she'll do it with me holdin' her."

Mrs. Hutchinson's chin trembled, but she nodded. "Aye, as ye say."

"What of the healer?" Sebastian asked softly, looking at Mrs. Hutchinson.

"I just don't know what to do! I was goin' tae return and check on Marie. Margaret is with her, she'll be able to tell us what's what," she replied. "I've been away too long as it is." She reached out to Cameron, rubbing his back slowly in large circles, something Sebastian had seen her do countless times when they were youths and Cameron was distressed. "Sweet lad, be strong when ye see her, we've no' told her what's coming."

He turned and marched past them and Mrs. Hutchinson and Sebastian immediately followed, Sebastian matching Cameron's steps and walking at his side. A few moments later, they approached the doors into Cameron's suite, and Mrs. Hutchinson pushed ahead, planting herself between the men and the door. A large group of women loitered in the area, all falling quiet when they noticed them.

"Let me go in first, Cameron. I dinnae know what's happening, and Margaret will be surprised tae have ye arrive," she explained. "I'll be back right away, but please, give me a moment."

Cameron's nostrils flared and Sebastian answered. "We will wait here as you bid us, Mrs. Hutchinson."

She disappeared into the room, swiftly closing the door behind her.

"Cam," Sebastian said in a low voice. "Are you up to this?"

The tall man met Sebastian's question with a steely gaze. "She's my _life_, do you know that? I love her, pal, how can I no' be with her?"

The door opened and Mrs. Hutchinson returned, and with her, a dark-haired woman.

"Sebastian, this is Margaret Hughes, the midwife," Mrs. Hutchinson said quickly. "Margaret, Sebastian Vael."

Margaret dropped into an admirable curtsey. "Your Highness, it's an honor, ser."

"Yes, madam, thank ye," he replied hurriedly. "Tonight I'm only Sebastian, friend of Lord Avery and his wife."

"What's happening?" Cameron demanded. "How is she?"

Margaret pursed her lips and stood tall. "Ser, ah, my lord, yer wife struggles because the bairn is no' in position tae deliver properly," she explained. "Her contractions are strong, but it's only exhausting them both, I fear. Neither she nor the babe is handling this well. I believe we must take action, and soon."

"I told him we sent for another midwife," Mrs. Hutchinson said under her breath.

"And a healer, my lord," Margaret supplied. "I dinnae think she will be able to deliver this child, ser. I would like tae wait for the other midwife, but I believe she will agree with me."

"I know all this," Cameron muttered impatiently. "Let me pass, I will stay with my wife until this is over."

Margaret shook her head. "My lord, this is women's work and things…"

Cameron reached past her and opened the door, forcing her and Mrs. Hutchinson to move or be knocked aside by his large frame. Sebastian stood in the doorway, keeping the women from giving chase, and felt his heart drop as his eyes found Marie.

She was nearly white, her normally glossy black hair matted against her scalp, the braid at the back of her head barely constraining it any longer. Her lips were pale and her eyes were glazed, sweat beading on her brow. She looked lifeless as she whimpered helplessly; her words unintelligible but her tone that of the most pathetic of creatures.

It was something Sebastian had heard too often, the sound of death.

Cameron fell to his knees at the bedside. "Beauty?" he said hesitantly, reaching for her hand. "Woman, I'm here," he whispered. "I'm no' leavin' ye. Marie?"

Sebastian stepped to the side, finally allowing the women to enter the room. He watched as Cameron kicked off his boots and climbed in the bed. With agonizing care, he pulled his wife into his arms, Margaret coming forward to help adjust their positions, the midwife then carefully checking Marie once she was settled against her husband.

Margaret turned and approached Sebastian, leaning close to the prince. "I cannae wait any longer, ser, she grows too weak. I must ask ye - will Lord Avery be able tae do this? Does he understand what must be done?"

"It's his wife," Sebastian replied. "Of course!"

"Ser, I am going tae cut his wife's belly open," she stated. "She's going tae scream, she's going tae bleed _a lot_. I cannae fight _him_ while I fight for _her_."

"I can hear ye!" Cameron growled from across the room. "And I swear tae ye, I can do _anything_ ye ask of me if it means ye can save them!"

Margaret faced Cameron and closed her eyes slowly before she looked up and met his gaze again. "Ser. Wait in the hall, _please_, and if I ask ye tae take his lordship from this room, then by all that's holy, _dinnae argue with me_."

Sebastian shook his head and began to argue, but Mrs. Hutchinson cut him off.

"He will," Mrs. Hutchinson answered for him, standing close to his side. "He _will_ do it, as it's best for Marie," she said pointedly, glancing up at him before she looked at Margaret. "Margaret, I must…ah, I _must_ do something, for it cannae wait any longer, but I'll return in a blink. Is there somethin' I can do while I'm away from the room?"

"Aye. We need at least one more lass tae help, so choose a girl ye know is calm, strong, and good at followin' directions. Send her up tae me now, she can count the bandages and knives before we get started," she replied. "Then send up the whiskey and poultices. Maker willin', Gloria and Anna will return soon, and they'll have a healer with them."

"Maker willin'," Mrs. Hutchinson repeated, but hesitated, looking nervously back at Marie and Cameron. "Oh, Katie, forgive me, it _must_ be done," she whispered to herself before she hurried away from the room.

Sebastian stared after her, concerned at the dear lady's haunted look.

"To the hallway with ye, ser," Margaret said sternly to him, distracting his thoughts as she gestured to the door. "Let us get our work done."

He left the room, Marie's simpering cries tearing at his heart as the door was shut after him.

**xXx**

Rain slapped against the windows and Fenris listened to the splatter of each aggressive drop. The storm was fully upon the small home, the humidity of it heavy in the air. He was hot, but not uncomfortably so, and most definitely not as he'd been over the last few days.

He was exhausted though he'd done little more than sleep since his arrival. He'd found himself wondering if he'd been as sick as Elena and the others had told him, but his fatigue at the slightest of efforts, such as walking to and from the chamber pot behind the privacy screen, made their story undeniable.

He closed his eyes against the memories of the nightmares that still crept along the edges of his mind. It had been several years since he'd felt so small, but then again, it'd been years since his fears of Danarius and Hadriana had influenced him.

He still recalled with perfect clarity dealing the death blow to his former master. It was something his mind and soul would cling to for the rest of his existence, the sound of the magister's gurgling last breath. It had been the sound of his salvation and the herald of his new life.

A life he still struggled to mold.

He'd asked Hawke once how one started over, how one moved beyond what one had lived. Her answer had been succinct and simple. Shrugging, she'd smiled softly, placing her hand over his. "You just…do," she'd said.

Her answer had meant little to him at the time, it had, in fact, frustrated him greatly. He'd been annoyed at her suggestion that a question so large, one which created such anxiety and distress, a question that kept him awake and robbed him of all peace could possibly have such a small answer.

What he'd not known then was she'd been right, it _was_ that simple. But he'd lacked any self-awareness then, had still been waiting for the ability to realize he could choose who to be, rather than allow it to be chosen for him. There were times even now when he wasn't sure who he saw when he looked in the mirror, but he recognized and liked what he saw more often than not, and that was something in itself.

And still…

He sighed heavily, wishing he could banish all sense of doubt. He'd worked too hard to find his own path to surrender to the melancholy the past could bring.

The nightmares of his fever had been too potent to deny, he could still feel the pit of hate in his belly, the same aching tension that he'd carried for years before he'd finally slain Danarius. He'd been genuinely surprised when he'd awakened from his fever to find he was free and the twisted Magister still dead.

It had been a struggle for him, since Hawke had left for Starkhaven, something he loathed to admit, but something he could no longer ignore. The shadows of who he'd been had grown in power since he'd left home, more virile with each step taken closer to Tevinter.

In the recesses of his mind he feared he'd grown too dependent on his friends to create his own self-worth, and this had allowed the darkness of his past to shadow him once more, but he was too weary to think it through.

His mind turned to where he was, and he again found himself wondering about his hostess and her friends. There was something to the human woman that demanded his attention. He found himself wondering once more when she would return to his room, and blamed his awareness of how long she'd been gone on his idleness.

Shifting in the bed, he felt his stomach rumble, and he wished he'd eaten more of the broth Elena had offered him.

"Hello," called a feminine voice as his door opened quietly. Elena poked her head around and she smiled at him.

He was unable to resist returning one of his own, before his focus narrowed on her blackened eye.

"You're awake, that's good," she began. "I was just thinking, if it was me sitting in this bed, and I'd not eaten much in the last two days, I'd be _really_ hungry. And then I thought, if I was stuck in bed, I'd be hungry _and_ bored cross-eyed."

He inclined his head. "You are attempting to read minds, I see. I do not believe I am cross-eyed."

She grinned widely before she arched an eyebrow. "Yet. You're not cross-eyed _yet_," she replied. "Am I somewhat close to the mark on the hungry part? Or should I give up on mind reading and keep my day job?"

"No, you may have a future in your new vocation," he answered. "For I am famished."

"Excellent!" she said cheerily and entered the room with a tray. On it was some crusty bread, a steaming bowl of broth and some eggs. "Olivia made the eggs, and the bread, so have no fear to eat those."

She settled the tray on his lap and they stared at one another for a moment, the quiet growing somewhat awkward.

"Uh, well, okay then," she stammered. "Just give a call and I'll come collect the tray."

He frowned, not wishing her to go. "I believe you also said I was bored. I expect your company would reduce the risk of that occurring, would it not?"

"Perhaps," she replied. "Assuming you don't find me a bore to begin with."

"I see you also question your mind-reading skills."

She suppressed a smile and took a seat in the chair at the bedside. "I did say I was keeping my day job."

"Which is?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment and finally shrugged. "I expect the best description would be a jack-of-all-trades," she began. "Keegan is a blacksmith, his workshop is on the front of the property, and I help there whenever he needs me to. I hunt, I'm a reasonably good tracker, and I, well, I…" she glanced down at her hands and sighed. "And I sort of smuggle slaves out of Tevinter."

Fenris sat forward, setting his tray aside. "Explain."

"Which part?" she replied cheekily and, seeing his even gaze, grew more serious. "I'm part of a network that helps slaves escape their masters. And we work with others to disrupt slavers when they leave the Imperium and to stop them when they're returning with their victims."

"Is this how you came to have such an injury?" he asked, gesturing to her blackened eye.

"No," she answered slowly. "Not really."

He frowned at her answer, again disconcerted that her wound bothered him so greatly, but oddly nervous to press her for a more complete response. He returned to their original subject. "And why would you do this? Why impede the slavers?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Hmm, well, let's see, because slavery is horrible?"

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me. Why would a human woman care about slaves?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she challenged. "And besides, that's a rather personal question, don't you think?"

"I do, yet it is no less a valid one."

She stared at him before she slowly smiled. "A well-spoken smart-arse, interesting," she said quietly. "You're right; it's an equally personal _and_ valid question."

"Do you intend to answer it?" he asked pointedly.

"No, I think I'll deflect that one, at least for now," she answered. "Some things are my own, and my reasons for caring fall into that category. But I have a lifetime of reasons for wishing to help slaves, ones important enough that I won't be giving up my day job, even if I am getting rather good at this whole mind-reading thing."

He nodded. "I understand. I shall refrain from asking again."

"Thank you," she said, crossing her legs and leaning closer to the bed. "So, before you fell ill, you said you were traveling to find the mage, Anders, yes?"

He again nodded.

"And that you were doing so to help a friend, Hawke?" she asked, and again, Fenris nodded silently. "Is this the same Hawke that's the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"It is." He noticed her countenance change, noting she had a hopeful tone to her words.

She bit her lip, trying to contain a smile. "Well, have you any fantastic stories of your adventures to share?"

He shook his head, before reaching for this tray and returning it to his lap. "No, I am no storyteller. That talent belongs to my companion, Varric. He can weave a tale as no other I've known."

"Varric? That's the dwarf, isn't it?" she asked. "There are all sorts of stories about Hawke." She looked bashful for a moment. "I realize one shouldn't listen to gossip, but I find I have always admired her a great deal."

"Why?"

"Well, I'd like to think we share a few things in common, truth be told," she explained, blushing. He was surprised he liked seeing her do so. "Didn't she flee Ferelden? Is it true she rode a dragon to do so? That she ran from the Blight and arrived in Kirkwall with nothing but the daggers on her back and a family to look after?"

"She did, and I met the dragon of which you speak, at least, the witch who was the dragon," he replied, uncertain why he wished to indulge her questions. He was not Varric; he could never do Hawke's tale justice, but he suddenly wished to try. "Did you also flee the Blight?"

"No, I fled my family. I'm from Tevinter," she replied matter-of-factly. "But I admire how Hawke made something of her life in Kirkwall, and how she helped others. She sets a good example."

"She does," he agreed, "She is the dearest friend I have had."

She looked at him thoughtfully, and placed her hand against his blanket-covered leg. "Do you miss her?"

He stared at her slender hand, wondering if it would feel warm against his skin if the blanket wasn't separating them. "I do," he answered gruffly.

"Why don't I tell you the stories instead?"

He moved his gaze from her hand to her eyes. "I do not understand."

"Well, how about I tell you the stories I've heard, and you can tell me if any are even remotely close to the truth," she explained.

He considered this for a moment, and, realizing he was very curious about what she'd heard of Hawke and the years they'd all shared, he nodded. "That may prove interesting. I agree. Begin."

With a contented sigh, he sat back and listened.

**xXx**

Margaret checked her supplies, quickly noting the location of the items she would need to deliver the child. Glancing up, she sighed, her heart heavy at what she knew must be done to save it. She had little hope that she could preserve the life of the mother without a healer to aid her, and vowed to do all she could to not lose the babe the poor thing would sacrifice her life for.

Margaret had known Marie for several years, she'd delivered all of her girls, and had advised and prepared for the arrival of the current baby. She knew the lady was a kind and good mother to her girls, and that her husband was devoted to her. She watched as he held her, her body reclined against him.

Her death would be a sorrowful thing.

"Get it done," she'd whispered under her breath and, with a inhalation, squared her shoulders and approached the bed.

"My lord, it's time," she said. "You need to leave the bed, ser, she'll need to be flat and steady."

Cameron closed his eyes and rested his chin on his wife's shoulder, his cheek against hers. He kissed her slowly, and whispered to her. Her eyes fluttered and Margaret knew the lass had heard him. Stepping closer, she took Marie's weight so that Cameron could move without his wife dropping back against the mattress.

"Where can I be?" he asked her once he stood.

Margaret gestured to the opposite side of the bed, the corner at the headboard. "There, ser. If you stand there, you'll be close to her and she'll be able to hear you."

He nodded solemnly and moved to his place.

Quietly, Margaret gave her aides their orders, and Cameron watched in stony silence as they bound her legs and hands. Once Marie was secured, he gently leaned over and stroked her brow, his words for her too quiet for those present to hear.

Mrs. Hutchinson burst back into the room, startling everyone present. "Blimey! I'm so sorry! I'm here!" she exclaimed, rushing in. "I…oh…Maker, did the whisky and such arrive? Oh, good!" she panted, rushing to the sideboard and washing her hands in a flurry.

A moment later she arrived at the bedside. "What shall I do?"

Margaret knelt at the bed and pulled the sheets from Marie, lifting her nightgown to her breasts and exposing her. She placed her hands on her belly, closing her eyes in concentration as she felt for the baby. Moving to the foot of the bed, she then checked Marie internally, nodding to herself.

"It's still above the canal," she announced. "Bailey, hand me the larger of the knives, we'll make the first incision."

Marie's eyes opened and she searched for Cameron. "Cam?" she rasped. "Cam?"

"I'm here," he answered quickly. "They're going tae help ye, I swear it," he said gently, leaning over so his face was near hers.

Margaret pierced the skin just below Marie's navel and quickly drew the knife down to her pubic bone. Marie shrieked in pain as her blood flowed in small rivulets down the side of her belly, the white sheets beneath her quickly drinking it in.

She begged for mercy when Margaret took the second knife to her, this one going deeper and opening her fully.

Sebastian, outside the room, knelt in the hall, resting his forehead against the cool wall as he prayed, the sobbing screams of his friend's wife tearing into his heart.

"Maker, in the name of your most revered and blessed bride, Andraste, please spare this woman and her child. Maker, in the name of your most…" he repeated methodically, trying not to lose his focus to the agonizing cries from within.

He felt someone kneel next to him, and a man's voice joined his cadence. A moment later, another person - a serving girl - added her prayers to theirs.

It was suddenly silent, and each of them noticed it simultaneously, looking to one another before rising.

"Why is it so quiet?" the girl whispered, her face reflecting their collective fears.

A ruckus was heard from a distance, but it was clearly from the floor below; the serving girl darted off to discover the source. Shouting was again heard, this more akin to an argument, but its volume grew exponentially, and the man who'd prayed with Sebastian, a footman, nodded to him as he went to investigate.

Alone in the hall, Sebastian strained his ears to hear what was occurring inside the bedroom, struggling to filter out the growing noise from below which now seemed closer than before. Desperate to know what was happening, he pressed his ear to the door, and was rewarded with the cry of a baby.

"Maker be praised!" he breathed, laughing in relief as joy flooded his soul.

"Let me pass, you bloody idiots!" yelled a man from below, perhaps from the foyer of the home.

Sebastian stepped back to see what was amiss, wondering if he should investigate, when the bedroom door suddenly opened. Mrs. Hutchinson raced out, entering the hall and paying no mind to Sebastian at first, but looked to him when she didn't see any one else.

"Where _is_ everyone?" she demanded, pacing the area. "I sent fer someone! Somebody has to go an' check…" but her sentence was cut off by another outburst, and the reason behind it came into view.

Staring at the group of people advancing toward them, Sebastian wondered at the very elaborately robed man in the center of the movement. The staff, some of whom Sebastian recognized, seemed uncertain of how to handle the man, and wondered if he should intervene.

"Fletcher! Ye came! Get in here, lad!" Mrs. Hutchinson bellowed. "Leave off 'im! Make way!" she ordered, shooing the staff away. "Fletcher! Move yer bloody bum! We need ye! Come! Come!"

Mrs. Hutchinson reached the group and grabbed the man, jerking him forward and dragging him bodily down the hallway toward Sebastian.

"Marie? Marie!"

Sebastian spun on his heel and ran back to the entrance of the room, gasping at the scene before him.

Cameron was shaking Marie, pleading with her as the midwife and an aide struggled to stop the horrendous bleeding. The bed was in shambles, piles of blood-soaked sheets tossed aside.

"Make room!" barked Mrs. Hutchinson, pushing Sebastian out of the doorway and into the bedroom, so she and the man she'd called Fletcher could enter. "He's here! I've got a healer!" she announced, fairly throwing the man into the middle of the fray.

The new arrival surveyed the room, his eyes growing serious and he stripped out of his fancy robe, instantly sensing the severity of the situation. "Tell me what's been done!" he demanded, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"Here!" replied Margaret. "Hurry! I can't stop the bleeding! She's nearly lost!" She related the details of the delivery, and the man nodded as he listened.

"The baby?" he asked, looking around the room.

"Better than I'd dared tae hope," Margaret answered, gesturing to the other side of the large room where a woman was soothing a swaddled bundle. "Good cries and color."

"First things first, then," Fletcher said, closing his eyes and whispering under his breath.

"Marie! Woman, stay with me," Cameron moaned piteously. "Hurry! Please! Heal her!"

"I _am_," the mage replied evenly.

The apostate resumed his hushed words and Sebastian soon recognized them, remembering the countless times Anders had cast such spells on he and his companions. He knew the particular spell was one of last resort, and the pit of worry in his stomach tightened.

Feeling arms wrap around his waist he turned to see Lorelai next to him, her face showing her concern.

"I know that spell," she whispered to him. "Sweet Maker, she's in a bad way if he's casting that one," she concluded. "What about the baby?"

Sebastian nodded in the direction of the aide, and Lorelai smiled softly as she realized the child was safe.

"There's that, then," she said softly.

The mage continued his work, and Lorelai, more familiar than most with the intensity of his concentration, went to his robes and began to rummage through the pockets in its folds. Finding the potion she'd hoped she would, she quietly approached the man and held it aloft.

He finished his spell and opened his eyes. Spying the lyrium, he thanked her and uncorked it, taking a minute sip of its contents.

"She'll live," Fletcher announced clearly. "I need to check her more carefully, though, to ensure I've addressed all of her needs. Madam, would you help me? You know what you did to her; help me make sure I've undone it."

Margaret moved to the side of the bed, and she and the mage threw aside the soiled bedding, exposing Marie's belly, revealing to all the repaired incision. Fletcher checked it carefully, and he and the midwife whispered back and forth to one another for a moment, before the mage spoke quietly with Cameron.

Sebastian, Lorelai and the others watched silently as Cameron's face crumpled into tears, his words a confused mixture of gratitude to Fletcher, Margaret and the Maker, spoken nearly all at once. He climbed into the bed and, with Fletcher's guidance, helped position Marie as the maids began to clear away the mess and debris of her surgery.

Mrs. Hutchinson arrived beside Lorelai and Sebastian, cradling the newest member of the Avery family who, while distinctly pink and rather wrinkled, was utterly perfect.

"Is he alright?" Lorelai asked, and then smiled at the baby. "Or she? He or she?"

"I'll tell the da first," Mrs. Hutchinson answered with a grin. "But, I will say, the girls' hand-me-downs may not suit this one."

"So she was right!" noted Lorelai happily, cooing at the baby.

Sebastian grinned widely and chuckled, imaging the reaction of his friend once he knew.

The trio stood closely, admiring the baby, while the room was cleaned and most of the staff departed. Cameron helped Margaret change Marie into a fresh nightgown, and then, in an adorable and rather inept fashion, tried to plait her dirty hair. Mrs. Hutchinson clicked her tongue.

"Och, he'll make it worse for her," she said, handing the baby to Lorelai before she hurried over to fix Marie's hair. Together, she and Cameron tucked Marie in, and Cameron stepped away from the bed, gazing down at her.

"Thank ye," he called to Fletcher, who was speaking with Margaret. "Thank ye for…for _her_. I cannae tell ye," he started but swallowed hard, shaking his head. "I'm forever in yer debt, ye saved _my_ life tonight, as well."

Fletcher approached Cameron and offered his hand, which Cameron quickly shook. "We'll be even if you don't tell anyone I was here," the mage quipped. "Now, she's going to take some time in her recovery. I've healed her wounds, yes, but I can't put back in the blood she's lost, only rest, time, and eating well will do that."

"I'll see tae that!" interrupted Mrs. Hutchinson.

"Of that, I've no doubt," replied the mage with a smile at the woman. "I'll give you my full instructions once things have settled down."

"Aye, Fletcher, I'm grateful ye came," Mrs. Hutchinson answered. The mage nodded once and returned to speak more with Margaret.

Mrs. Hutchinson sighed, pulling Cameron into a hug. "Ye did it, my lad, and all is well," she whispered to him. He smiled down at her and she reached up, patting his cheek affectionately. "Now, would ye like to meet yer son?"

Cameron's head snapped to Lorelai, his eyes falling on the baby in her arms. "Son? A…a boy?" he stammered, staring as Lorelai brought the baby to him. He tenderly lifted the small bundle from her and kissed the baby's crown before cradling him close. "But…I only know how tae make lasses," he breathed. "A boy? Marie said it would be, but…you're _certain_?"

"I'm auld, aye, but I'm no' blind," she said with a frown. "_Am I certain_," she repeated under her breath. "Aye! There's a stem on the apple!"

Sebastian grinned, patting Cameron on the shoulder, as he looked down at the baby. "Well done, Cam!"

Cameron, his smile wide, turned and took his son to Marie. Settling on the bed beside her sleeping form, he took her limp hand and placed it on their child, and quietly introduced them to each other.

"Oh, bollocks," Cam said, looking up at Sebastian a few minutes later. "She told me tae come up with a lad's name! What will we call him?"

"Well, certainly not _Constance_," Sebastian teased, knowing the name was the one Cameron had wanted to use when he'd been so certain it was a girl.

"Bollocks, she'll be cross with me for that," he said, but then he smiled at Marie, and, freeing one hand, brushed his hand over her cheek. "A boy, woman, ye were right."

"Well, she can be cross with you when she wakes, don't worry about a name now, just get some rest," Lorelai advised.

"Aye, she _can_, thank the Maker, and I look forward tae it," he said quietly, stroking her hand. "She can yell an' scream 'til she's blue in the face if she'd like tae, an' I'll be grateful for every word. Every blessed one."

Mrs. Hutchinson sniffed loudly. "Amen, lad, amen."

_**First and foremost, let me point out that our hero mage here, Fletcher, is NOT my creation, not by a long shot. Lisakodysam is the owner of this amazing character. His passionate, exciting, hold your breath, pass out from the rollercoaster ride of an epic love story can be found by visiting the website, An Archive of Our Own, as well as here on FanFiction. Search for her name, or the story, '**_**Per Ardua Ad Astra',**_** I promise you, you will NOT be sorry you did.**_

_**Thank you to Lisa for the beta and the guidance. (She's actually the one who saved Marie, y'all. It was close in my evil writer's brain there, so, hats off to her!)**_

_**Thanks a gazillion to each of you for your time. It's a privilege to be able to write these characters to begin with, and your reviews, subscriptions, favorites and PM's make it SO much sweeter. Thank you!**_


	30. Risk and Reality

**Risk and Reality**

Sebastian sat at his desk, his long fingers drumming on its glossy wood.

It had been four days since the birth of Cameron and Marie's son, the delivery of whom occurred only after a most gruesome surgery. The bairn was healthy, and Marie would recover, but Sebastian couldn't shake the images of her blood-soaked body from his mind, and he couldn't push aside his own growing sense of fear.

Lorelai had slightly less than three months before her own labor would start, before she too would potentially face such a traumatizing labor. When he closed his eyes, his mind replaced Marie's screams with Lorelai's, and his best friend's horror became his own.

Princess or not, what if there was no healer to be found for Lorelai? The simple truth was that neither she, nor any citizen of Starkhaven had any hope of surviving a calamitous event, whether a breech bairn or a fall from a horse, if healers were not available.

The need for magic to return to his lands was more apparent to him than ever before.

He shuddered, leaning forward, and again re-read the missive he'd penned to the Divine. In it he stated his intention to form a Circle within Starkhaven once more, and, with that declaration, requested that the Chantry sanctify his proposed actions.

It was a bold letter, one in which he laid out his immovable belief that the Templar Order must adhere to the same restrictive behavior codes that any other servant of the Maker did. The actions of some of the Templars serving under Knight-Commander Meredith would not be tolerated, regardless of the tensions within the Order.

He would not see people of any race or ability subjugated or bullied, not while it was within his capacity to prevent it. His instincts told him a balance could be struck, but only if mutual respect was present from the start.

He did not list all of his goals for the new Circle, should it be approved, but he clearly stated that he felt a strict interpretation of the Chant was the only faithful course of action.

The correspondence, he knew, had the potential to cause more than a few ruffled feathers. The Divine didn't traditionally ask the opinion of a ruling leader's thoughts on how the Chantry should administer its rule and duties within the leader's lands, and his choice to declare what he deemed was right and proper within his own borders, indeed, to outlay his 'requirements' to her was…how would Varric put it?

Ballsy.

He knew his understanding of the Chant and his intense studies of the scriptures had him in the right. Politics, bigotry and fear were the motivations behind many of the more questionable policies implemented by the Order, and he felt addressing these truths head on was the only honorable way to prevent such atrocities in the future.

But now, after witnessing Marie's nearly disastrous delivery of her child, he felt a twinge of panic in his gut. If the Divine didn't agree with his reasoning, if she elected to deny his request, or to alter his design, then a terrible choice would have to be made.

Accept the Divine's will and allow a Circle be formed following the current standards of the Chantry, despite its potential to bring more misery upon them. Or ignore his holy leader's dictum and form a Circle outside of the Chantry, possibly creating a terrible rift between Starkhaven and the Chantry.

A rift that, should it come to pass, could divide his people from their practicing faith, from the resources and charity of their local chantries and possibly bringing civil war to his lands.

It scared him, he realized, to be a man with such power. To get this wrong would be a horrendous disservice to more people than he could fathom.

A quick rap on his study door distracted him, and he called out his blessing for his caller to enter.

"Hello, handsome," said Lorelai as she shut the door behind her and turned to walk over to him.

"Darlin'," he replied soberly. "How was your morning in the country?"

She stopped at the sideboard and poured them each cup of tea as she answered. "It went really well. Goran convinced a family with thirteen children to commit to attending the new school in the area, once it's completed." She paused and picked up the saucers, carefully carrying the tea over to the desk. "Honestly, he's _so_ not the idiot I'd pegged him for," she added, waggling her eyebrows. "Methinks he may just be a Vael after all," she quipped.

Sebastian sighed and watched as she set down the teas.

"And I think he feels good helping out. His arguments for why the locals should give the schools another chance were very passionate," she smiled. "Well, okay, _crudely_ stated but sincere nonetheless."

Sebastian forced a grin of his own, picking up his tea. "Ah, well, he gets points for effort, then." He took a sip and closed his eyes. "Thank you for the tea."

Her eyes dropped to the papers on his desk and she moved to stand next to his chair. Leaning over, she kissed his brow and ran her fingers through his hair. "Reading your letter again?"

He sighed. "Aye."

"It's a good letter, Seb," she said quietly. "It's a fair plan, and a genuine one. The Divine will see that."

He was quiet for a moment. "And if she doesn't?"

"She will," she insisted.

"What if she doesn't, Lorelai? There's no guarantee the Divine will be open to any of the things I'm proposing," he countered, his frustration obvious. "Do we dare risk proceeding on our own?"

"Do we dare not?"

He sighed, standing abruptly, and walked to the fireplace. Staring into the ashes, he shook his head. "I swore long ago that I would adhere to the Chant of Light, I made a vow to live my life as a man of faith should. Leaving the Chantry didn't change that," he explained.

"But?"

"But sending that letter to the Divine is a very divisive course, tantamount to a line drawn in the sand. If she ignores my wishes and demands that a Circle in Starkhaven form under the current standards, I cannot with good conscience consent," he explained. "And yet we cannot be without the benefits so clearly wrought by magic. Had that apostate not been found, Marie _would_ have died, and the Averys' whole lives altered for the worse. How many others will face such tragedy, how many families will suffer from loss if I'm forced to refuse the Divine's decision?"

"None," she answered firmly. "Not a single one."

"Wrong, Lorelai," he said sadly. "There is an undeniable need, and this choice is squarely on my shoulders."

"So form your own Circle," she countered.

He turned and stared at her silently.

She shrugged. "What? You've just said the need is undeniable, haven't you? And don't tell me you've not thought of it before, Seb, it's the only other logical course of action, and you'd _not_ be the first. Isn't King Alistair of Ferelden doing the same in his country?"

"Aye, I've considered it. I forget how well you know me," he answered with a soft smile. "It's not an idea I'm fond of, forming a Circle separate from the Chantry. I worry that taking such a course of action will bring dire consequences to Starkhaven."

She nodded but didn't speak.

"And yet, inaction is not without its own repercussions," he added. "I've little doubt of what's right here, but there's so much more at risk now, when I take a gamble, isn't there? I confess, I find myself wondering how my grandfather made ruling look so…_easy_," he said wistfully. "He never hesitated in his duty or his right."

"His right?"

"Aye."

She hugged him from behind, burying her nose into his shirt, her swollen belly pushing at him. "I don't understand what you mean, Seb. Tell me."

He took her hands into his own, considering how to explain what he was feeling. "My grandfather never hesitated to act. He never questioned that it was his place and Maker-given right to make such decisions for Starkhaven."

She kissed his shoulder. "Meaning you do?"

"I'm the third son, never intended to rule," he whispered. "And now I'm trusted with making choices that affect every living soul in Starkhaven."

"Yes you are," she agreed. "_You're_ trusted and thank the Maker for it. You're no arrogant prat, unable or unwilling to see the reach of his actions, you're humble and want to get things right. That's the kind of leader every citizen hopes for."

He sighed as she continued.

"And maybe, _just maybe_, your grandfather pretended to make it look easy," she offered. "You were just a little boy, and he was your hero. I'd expect he knew that too. So, really, you've no idea if he paced this office, fearful of a misstep or a blunder."

He kissed her knuckles and stepped away from her, crossing to his desk and picking up the ornately written letter for the Divine. Without any further hesitation, he snatched up his quill and inked it, before signing his name at the bottom of the parchment and tossing the quill aside.

"Done, and by the Maker, it's the right thing to do," he declared. "There is a better way, and I must have the courage to pursue it, despite the risks of doing so. Starkhaven needs its mages, with or without the blessing of the Divine."

"Yes it does."

He took up the letter and carried it to the door, intending to give it to his secretary to send. Grasping the door knob, he met her eyes, a look of conviction in his blue ones. "Let us hope for the best, then, and do our duty."

**xXx**

The mansion was massive, the gates surrounding it well over ten feet tall and the grounds within measuring at several acres.

It was of newer construction, ostentatious in its design and size, but it was in the center of the city's most opulent neighborhood, and would send the message, with complete clarity, that the mage who owned it intended to stand out.

"Your thoughts, ser?" inquired the small man who'd shown him the estate. He represented the previous owner, a Magister who'd abandoned it, the man and his family fleeing a confrontation with another Magister in the city.

Anders gazed at the dominant front doors, his mind a flurry of plans and plots. But as he studied the home, to be bought with a part of the significant fortune he'd wrested from Celia, he was struggling to contain his eagerness.

No more would he be the poor mage with nothing but a staff and a gold earring to show for his life, no more was he the instrument of a raging spirit, and no more would he be the man whose name was always second to _hers_.

The gossips here had already spread the word of his arrival; he'd even had a fruit vendor ask him if he'd heard the mage who'd killed the Cleric had arrived. He'd listened quietly, allowing the man to relate a ridiculous tale of 'his' deeds which, by the vendor's telling, were significantly grander than reality.

But this was what exactly Anders had hoped for.

His plans for his time in Tevinter were simple: harness the money and power available and bring his child to a land where it'd be safe to use its magic and where its father had power that could rival its mother's husband.

His arrival in Minrathous had garnered him a great deal of attention, his actions in Kirkwall widely known to nearly everyone he met. His encounter with Fenris had set his traveling pace at near furious, and he'd crossed into Tevinter more than ten days ago.

It had only taken a day or so for him to accept he truly could move about without any real fear for his safety. The idea of being open with his magic was still foreign to him, but it was a sensation he was happily getting used to. He'd indulged in the luxury of buying a horse to further hasten his pace, and found he'd relished the feeling of moving about openly, his staff slung carelessly at his back.

His presence was greeted with genuine interest and at first, this surprised him, even unsettled him, sparking his suspicion. But now he understood that, for the most part, the people of Tevinter, its mages pampered by their unbridled freedom, viewed the events in Kirkwall as inevitable and not unforgivable.

A local shopkeeper, recognizing Anders's name once Anders had inquired about establishing an account, posed a question that still resonated in his mind. How could they, the term referring to non-mages, be shocked at what had occurred?

The woman had scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Of course you fought them; it's ridiculous to shackle magic! What made me pause is that any one of you down south simply _accepts_ it. Your brethren will see the light after what you did, now that someone has _finally_ taken action. You're a bloody hero."

It was all Anders could do not to burst out into nervous laughter, his eyes darting around them, still so programmed to hide such thoughts. Her opinion was blasphemous and she'd announced it without any hesitation or remorse. He'd left the shop and sat on a bench, watching the workers in the market move around him. It was then that it finally sunk in.

He was free.

So now, standing in front of this extraordinary property, in a city surrounded by those who would not bastardize his gifts, he smiled slowly, enjoying the deep sense of purpose that was burning in his heart.

"I'll take it," he finally replied, the secretary nodding as he stepped away. Anders's eyes roamed the grounds once more before he clapped his hands together, rubbing them with a smile. "All of it."

**xXx**

The sun was shining in its full glory, the midday meal complete, and Fenris was growing very antsy. He needed to _move_.

He'd been staying with Elena and her friends for over ten days, each one spent with hearty food and rest. This was not something he'd found unpleasant; he had, in fact, enjoyed their amiable company a great deal, particularly that of the human, but his boredom was becoming a cloud over his head.

The healer had finally arrived, but he was so delayed that by the time he _did_ come, Fenris had been fever free for almost three days. He'd checked Fenris carefully, agreed he was making a solid recovery, and then advised that Fenris would need to remain with his hosts for at least another two weeks.

Fenris had argued, not wishing to be a burden and acutely aware that with each passing day, Anders traveled farther and farther into the Imperium, and possibly beyond his reach. But the elderly healer had insisted, bringing the owners of the house in on their discussion.

"You've barely survived _this_ fever, ser, and had you not been under the care of these fine people, I'm certain you would be dead right now," he'd explained. "Without proper rest and ease, you will most assuredly relapse into your illness. If you leave, you'll take ill alone someplace, where perhaps no aid or care can reach you."

"I lost a lot of sleep lookin' after you, not to mention I had to let Elena in my kitchen since she _insisted_ she be the one to make your broth," Olivia had chimed in, a sour expression on her face. "Seems to me, it'd be poor manners to go off and die after putting me out so."

Elena had restrained a grin, and Keegan had outright laughed, but before Fenris could argue further, the healer finished his reasoning.

"Yes, I realize you've a greater purpose to your travels, and you're eager to set off again," he'd continued, raising a hand to stay Fenris's words. "But being dead and six feet under would most definitely impede your success."

Elena had met his eyes then. "Stay, Fenris. Please."

Fenris had growled, annoyed at how persuasive her plea had felt, but with their combined requests, and his sense of obligation to their charity, he'd finally conceded.

And so he sat, idle.

He hated nearly every moment of it, the only cheer in his mood when Elena lingered by him, something he noted she was doing more and more of. But today, the weather perfect for his halted journey to finally resume, he was annoyed that he'd agreed to linger, and that she _somehow_ managed to occupy so many of his thoughts. He was fidgety, as if his own skin felt too tight.

It was time to go.

He wandered out-of-doors, the breeze cooler than it had been for the last several days, and he could smell the change of seasons coming with it. Stepping away from the house, he wandered through the yard and opened the small gate to the garden, thinking to occupy himself with some simple task. With satisfaction he noticed the vegetable garden needed hoeing. He set to work.

It felt good to move his muscles, to turn the earth, the fragrant smell of it being stirred up by his action. He'd completed nearly half of the rows before fatigue overtook him, and with great irritation, tossed the hoe aside before he sat in the grass to rest.

"Thanks," said a now familiar voice, and Fenris felt his heart skip for a moment. Looking up, he spotted Elena at the opposite end of the garden.

"For?"

"For hoeing," she replied, gesturing to the discarded hoe by his knee. "I hate doing it."

"You are welcome. But is this not Olivia's garden? Does she not hoe it?"

"No, she plants it, picks it, cooks absolutely everything we get from it, so…yeah, it's the least I can do. And according to Olivia, it's the _very_ least," she answered with a smirk. "I tried to point out once that I don't ask _her_ to skin the meat I bring in, but she failed to see the comparison."

"It is not dissimilar."

"No, it's not, but she's meaner than I am," she teased. "Plus, she's got a bad back, so I don't really want her to do it. I just want to complain about it, that's all."

"Ah."

She gazed at him for a few quiet moments, the breeze catching her hair. "It's a good day to be outside, don't you think?"

Fenris nodded, noticing how the sun brought out the red in her hair. "It is."

"My mind-reading powers tell me you're nearly insane from sitting around here," she said.

He was unable to hold back his chuckle. "I see your skill continues to grow."

She laughed. "I know! I'm rather amazing, aren't I?" she teased. "Want to help me with a few things?"

"Such as?"

She walked closer and he spied a leather bag in her hand. Once at his side, she sat down next to him, her legs folded like a pretzel, her knee grazing his thigh. "Well, I've got some new steel heads here, and I need to fasten them to their arrows."

He glanced at the contents of her bag, noting there were no arrows shafts inside. "Where are the shafts?"

"Well, that's the help part I mentioned," she explained. "I'm going to walk to a grove not too far from here; it's at the back of the property. There are loads of oak saplings there, and they make excellent arrows. I thought maybe you could help me choose one."

He thought of how tired he was from the hoeing and frowned, not eager to appear weak in front of her.

"I have most of what I need here already, so I only need to choose one sapling, or at the very most two," she quickly added. "They weigh nothing, you know, but all the same…"

"I would be happy to help you, Elena."

She was sitting so close to him, he could nearly feel the warmth of the smile she gave him. The wind caught up again and her hair plastered itself ungracefully across her face, and she sputtered, grabbing at it.

He smiled and reached out, moving a large portion from her blocked view, his fingers grazing her nearly healed cheek. "How did you come to have your bruise?" he asked quietly, surprising himself that he was still so concerned for it.

She sighed and studied him for a moment. He held her cheek.

"You," she finally answered.

He dropped his hand from her face and felt sick to his stomach.

"I would not…"

She cut him off. "No, _you_ wouldn't," she interrupted. "You were sick, afraid, and in the middle of a nightmare. I should have given you more space."

He shook his head, his nostrils flaring, wishing to argue with her answer, but he knew, inside, that her reply was the truth. He suddenly remembered the dream; he'd lashed out at Hadriana, striking the witch so he could make his escape.

An escape which, once he'd awakened, had been unnecessary.

"Hadriana," he whispered. "I thought you were...another."

"I know," she replied easily. "I also know you didn't mean to hurt me. It was an accident, Fenris, so please, don't…don't overreact, alright?"

"Keegan had said to keep my fists to myself," he said softly, a look of self-loathing on his face. "I do not harm women. I do not abuse others. I would _never_ hurt you."

"No, you wouldn't, and we all know that. And we knew it then, too," she assured him. "Look, you're a good man and you were gravely ill. There's no 'fault' to be found in this, honestly, so don't bother searching for it, alright?"

"I will make this right, Elena," he vowed. "I owe you a great deal."

She rolled her eyes and put her hand on his leg. "Fen, it's _fine_. You don't owe me a single thing, okay? Don't beat yourself up over any of this."

He shook his head and no longer met her eyes. He heard her sigh heavily.

"Do you still want to come with me to the grove?"

"I will aid you, of course," he replied stiffly.

She stood up swiftly and glared down at him. "Listen to me, and listen carefully. I don't want your 'aid' or your lopsided sense of obligation," she said firmly. "We helped you because it was the right thing to do. I think I know you well enough now to say you'd have done the same."

"Elena…"

"As far as my eye goes? It's over, and you didn't do a damn thing wrong. So if you're coming along today because you feel guilty, then please, stay put."

She turned on her heel and began to stalk off, but he got to his feet and called after her.

"Please, do not go."

She paused and looked back at him. "I like you," she announced. "I'd not answered you before, when you asked about my eye because I knew doing so would upset you, and I was right. I don't think you're a bad person, I think you've probably had a hell of a rough go and you were dreaming about it."

He avoided her gaze but nodded.

"And I, for one - and I would guess this to also be true if I was deliriously ill and near death - have _no_ control over what I dream of," she continued. "_Do_ _you_?"

"If I did, they would be far different dreams," he muttered before finally meeting her eyes. "But no, I do not."

They stared at one another for a few tense moments, before she tentatively touched his arm, her hand dropping away quickly. "Would you like to walk with me to the grove?"

Silently, he mastered his distress, swallowing down his instinctive response to her question, knowing she'd hear his guilt. Clearing his throat, he answered her with sincerity. "Yes."

**xXx**

Merrill slipped into the Hanged Man with a crowd of workers coming up from the warehouse district. She answered the few greetings she received and maneuvered her way through the wall of people, reaching the steps located at the back of the pub.

She took each with typical elven grace, and walked directly to the rear of the establishment, knocking soundly on the door of Varric's room. Without waiting for his consent, she entered the room.

She'd only entered it a few times over the last seven years that she'd called Varric friend. It always surprised her that it was as fancy and well-cleaned as it was, considering the normally grime-covered state of the rest of the Hanged Man itself.

Varric had hired Norah years ago to keep his space tidy and organized, but as the room was also home to his most private documents and 'items' he hoped to trade or sell, Norah was by far the best paid housekeeper in all of Kirkwall. Not that the faithful barmaid needed the pay to keep his trust - he knew she'd never sell him out - but he wanted her to know she was valued.

Merrill smiled softly thinking of this. Varric was very good at making a person feel valued.

"Daisy!" the dwarf called as he noticed her. "You really should wait for a man to answer before you just walk into his bedroom, you know. You might see something that would scandalize your innocent eyes!"

She smiled, shaking her head. "I doubt that very much," she laughed. "My eyes have seen some rather nasty things."

He chuckled and moved to a table placed in the center of the room, offering her a drink. She accepted and watched him as he prepared it, nodding her thanks as he handed it over.

"Are you alright, Varric?" she asked tentatively. "Did she hurt you?"

"Nah, Daisy," he replied. "She kept me there talking. She asked me what must have been dozens of questions, but for the most part, she sat there and listened. Strangest interrogation I've ever had."

"What did she ask?"

Varric took a sip of his drink and sighed. "See, that's the thing that still has me scratching my head. She had me tell her everything that's basically happened over the last seven years," he explained. "Her focus was definitely Hawke, yeah, but she knows a hell of a lot about us, too."

The elf settled onto the settee, curling her bare feet under her. "So, what do you think she was after then?"

"It's going to sound crazy, but I swear to you, the broad really just wanted to understand what got all of us and Hawke to this place," he replied. "I spent a good portion of the time with her trying to figure out her angle, and I swear, that's the only thing I can figure out. All she wanted to understand was the series of events, and, if Hawke knew what was coming or not."

"Did she believe you?"

"No, not at first, but I think I got it through her little Chantry-loving head that there was a lot of fault to be laid at both Meredith and the Grand Cleric's feet for this mess," he said.

She shook her head, ready to argue.

"I don't mean the Cleric was to blame for what happened that day, or Meredith, for that matter, 'cause only Blondie holds the bag of shit on _that_. But there were plenty of missed chances on good ol' Elthina's part to have reined in Meredith long before it reached that point," he explained. "Opportunities that, had she'd taken even one, would have avoided all this. I didn't see then, but now, having had to explain it all to an outsider, I do."

"Hmm, I've considered that myself, actually. I was thinking about the argument between the knight-commander and the first enchanter, the one at the chantry steps in Hightown. Do you remember Hawke telling you about that?"

The dwarf nodded. "Yeah, she'd been the one to break it up."

"I was there, that's exactly how it went," Merrill agreed. "But the thing is, Elthina was there. I always thought it odd that she didn't drag both of them to her office right then and there. How she let the champion address it is still beyond me."

"Like I said, missed chances," Varric replied with a heavy sigh. "Maker's sweaty balls, I'm _tired_."

Merrill set down her cup. "Does Aveline know you're finished? She was spitting nails when I last spoke with her."

"I don't know. If not, don't go running to tell her _just_ yet."

"Varric, you know she'll be worried, you being in custody so long," she countered.

The rogue smiled devilishly. "Well, let her worry for a bit. She got me into that mess in the first place, if she gets a few gray hairs over it, she earned them."

"You're a naughty dwarf, do you know that?"

He laughed, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, that's me, Varric the naughty dwarf," he teased. "And here I was hoping the Book of Memories would put me down as 'Handsome Hero'."

She smiled and blushed. "They will." She stood and gathered her staff before walking to the door. "I'm glad you're safe, and I won't ruin your revenge on Aveline. Just…go tell her before, say, tomorrow night, alright?"

He grinned. "Yes ma'am, I will. Promise."

"Good," she grasped the door handle. "Sweet dreams, Varric. Try to spend less time with Templars, will you please?"

His laugh boomed. "That I guaran-damn-tee I can do!" She opened the door. "Hey, Merrill?"

She looked back at him. "Yes, Varric?"

"That's a, uh, a nice tunic. It makes your eyes shine."

She blushed brightly. "Thank you. Good night," she said quietly and shut the door.

He counted to ten and hurried out into the hall, and watched her from the top of the steps, seeing her leave the pub. He waved at one of his men by the bar, who quickly came over.

"Make sure Daisy gets home safe."

With a nod the man darted off and Varric, tired to his very core and confident his blood mage would be getting home in one piece, turned and went to bed.

_**Thank you, Lisa! And Fenris thanks you for your 'addition' to his section as well!**_

_**Thank you, everyone for reading, reviewing, subscribing, favoriting, making it a cocktail, etc! You all are amazing, you know that?**_


	31. Can't Get No Satisfaction

**Can't Get No Satisfaction**

Elena and Fenris returned from the grove to find there was a visitor at her home.

Elena quickly introduced Fenris to the older woman, and Cora studied Fenris with cold eyes. "Nice to meet you," she said insincerely, her entire body language tense. "Leave us, I need to speak with your mistress alone."

The insult to Fenris was clear, but his harsh reply to the rude woman was cut off by Elena's.

"He's no slave, Cora, so watch your mouth and apologize quickly if you want to stay in my pay," Elena said harshly.

Cora bristled but, sniffing loudly, nodded. "My mistake," she said.

Fenris glared at the woman. "One of many, I would expect."

"What brings you out here, Cora?" Elena asked, her arms crossed.

"I have a little something to tell you. Thought you might find it interesting," the woman explained, her eyes still on Fenris.

"Okay, I'm listening."

Cora looked between Elena and Fenris, not continuing.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Cora! You can talk in front of him!" Elena exclaimed in exasperation.

"No, I will leave, there's a stench here that I cannot abide," Fenris stated coldly, turning on his bare heel to return to the house. He heard Elena start to argue, but didn't break stride.

Not long after, Elena opened the door to the home, spying Fenris seated with Olivia at the table by the fire.

She hung her leather pouch of arrowheads on a hook by the entry and came to sit next to Fenris.

"Did that cow shove off?" Olivia asked, her voice hard. "Or is Keegan making room for her in the barn?"

Elena snorted and shook her head. "Nope, she's gone, thank the Maker. I can't stand her."

"Then why do you do business with her?" Fenris queried.

"She's a retired mercenary who basically loiters, well, everywhere," Elena answered. "Folks ignore her as she's a fixture in town, so their tongues tend to get loose around her. She's good for information because of it. It's pretty decent information too, otherwise I'd have told her to pound dirt a long time ago."

"And what did that horrible hag want?" Olivia demanded.

Elena smiled. "That there are a few straggling bands of slavers working their way back up to Tevinter," she replied. "Apparently they've got a few escapees, but the slaves didn't all get away at the same time, so a large group, that would normally be more than we could take on, has become several smaller groups we can now handle."

Fenris's brow furrowed as he considered the slight human in a fight; he didn't like the idea of her in combat at all. "Slavers are some of the most despicable creatures in Thedas. They have no morals and no qualms about gutting anyone who defies them. It is foolhardy to take them head-on."

Elena's violet eyes met his green ones and she arched a slim eyebrow. "They are indeed, which is why we won't be, and why they should be prevented from performing their jobs, don't you agree?" she asked before turning back to Olivia. "It sounds like we can take care of the little band that's lingering south of town. Cora said there are only about four slavers watching over seven or eight slaves. So, Keegan and I should be able…"

"Forgive me, but are you proposing to take on seasoned slavers with only _Keegan_ by your side?" Fenris interrupted, his tone terse.

"I am," Elena replied evenly, crossing her arms. "Keegan is rather skilled with his sword and we're hardly new to this kind of thing."

"You will be outnumbered. Are you also skilled with a sword?"

Elena frowned. "I can handle myself with a dagger, if need be," she answered. "But that shouldn't happen, not if I'm doing my part correctly. Keegan should enter their camp with only bodies to check and slavers' ropes to cut. My arrows will do the work for us."

Fenris turned to Olivia. "This Cora is little more than a thug who sells information to the highest bidder, is she not?" he demanded. "What if she's been paid more by the slavers? Perhaps Elena's activities have become known to them and they desire to flush her out?"

"Elena's had Cora on the payroll for a few years now, she's never given her bad information," Olivia replied, not looking up from the sewing she was working on. "Besides, she knows what she's about. Elena and Keegan can handle themselves, Fenris."

"Elena is but one woman against an undetermined number of slavers," he countered.

"Elena's a crack shot, and, oddly enough, is sitting right _next_ to you!" the archer snapped, glowering at Fenris. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here, Fenris! Is it that you don't like what I do? Or do you have a problem with a woman fighting?"

Fenris stood from the table and began to pace. "I do not have a _problem_ with a woman fighting," he argued. "I have an educated concern that one human and one elf taking on a group of slavers based on the information of a less than reputable individual is a dangerous and foolhardy endeavor!"

"Oh, stick it in your ear, Fenris," she huffed, drumming her fingertips on the wood.

The warrior stopped short and stared at her. "_Stick it in my ear_?" he repeated. "That is your reply to my argument?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head. "I renew my protest."

"Look, you've been here, what, two weeks? You don't know what we've accomplished here; you don't have any idea of the things we've succeeded at!"

"I do not question your accomplishments, Elena, I am merely concerned for your safety. I do not wish to see you harmed," the handsome elf explained.

Elena sighed, not appearing to be mollified by his words.

"If you're so concerned, then go with them," Olivia suggested as she threaded a needle.

"An excellent suggestion," Fenris readily replied.

"What? No!" Elena argued. "He's been ill, quite ill, I would remind you, and he's…"

"A warrior who's seen a thing or two," Olivia interrupted. "He's so worried for you and you're so certain there's nothing to worry about? Then take him along, he can shadow Keegan."

"Absolutely not!"

Fenris nodded. "I feel it is a logical compromise."

"Well, I don't, so you can just forget it," Elena argued. "Let's not ignore you're still recovering from your fever, you could get seriously injured if there's a scuffle, and besides, I'm _not_ in the wrong, so there's no need for a compromise!"

"If the information that mercenary brought you is as solid as you suggest, then there is little concern for any of our safety, correct? You should be able to address all of the slavers from a distance," Fenris answered reasonably. "Besides, Elena, how do you intend to keep me from going along if I deem it necessary?"

"_If_ _you deem it necessary?" _she stammered. She blinked several times, her mouth working but she didn't speak.

"He's got a fair point, there, sweetheart," Olivia observed.

Elena glowered at her friend, her jaw set. She shook her head and stood, her chair scraping loudly on the wood floor. "Fine! Have it your way," she snapped, stomping toward the door. She snatched her leather pouch down from its peg.

"I'm taking these," she said, referring to the arrow heads in the bag, "down to the shop. I'll finish them there," she stated, shooting Fenris a heated look. "That is, unless, you think your mighty self should walk little old me down the steep hill. Maker forbid, there could be a rabid squirrel or a hostile root or something."

Fenris didn't like having her angry with him, but realized he did like her feisty reaction to his legitimate concerns. So much so, he found it rather difficult not to bait her further. "Squirrels can be nefarious creatures, to be sure. Allow me to gather my sword."

"Ugh!" Elena growled, yanking open the door and stalking outside.

"Oy! Don't slam the doo…" Olivia began to warn but her words were cut off by the jarring vibrations from Elena doing just that, "…door. Alright, never mind, then."

The matronly elf sighed, set aside her sewing and looked at Fenris. "Well, now, perhaps you'd best use the time before she returns to train a bit? Kittens don't tend to wield swords all that well, and unless I was watching a different man hoe the garden earlier, that's about as strong as you really are."

Fenris frowned but didn't reply. Instead, he gathered his Sword of Mercy and went outside.

**xXx**

The girls were happily sprawled across the bedroom floor, their books and dresses for their dollies scattered around them. They'd been banned from their parents room for the first day after their brother's birth, and Cameron had only allowed brief visits until today, when Marie had insisted they gather some playthings and spend the afternoon with her.

Her son was in the nursery, happily settled with his wet nurse and would soon be napping. Marie's body was recovering from his birth reasonably well, but Cameron had been watching over her like a hawk, meaning she'd been able to do very little for herself, a fact which was beginning to bother her greatly.

Marie watched her girls and smiled, listening to their conversation. Melissande was reporting with a giggle that she'd held the baby and he'd passed wind, and rather noisily as well. This caused the sisters to laugh loudly, encouraging Melissande to re-enact the indelicate sound her dear brother had made.

Marie bit her lip, not wishing to chuckle too loudly, lest the girls realize their mother was listening in. She turned her head to hide her smile and saw the day was approaching late afternoon, which meant that it would soon be time for tea in the nursery. She'd not left her suite since the baby's birth, but decided that she would today. It was time to get moving, she knew, and she realized she was eager to do so.

She scooted her bottom to the edge of her bed and planted her feet firmly on the plush carpet that covered her bedroom floor, determined to dress. She gave a quick glance to the girls, ensuring she would be able to stand up unobserved, lest she needed to make more than one go at it. She'd not wanted them to be fully aware of how hard their brother's delivery had been on her.

Getting up was becoming easier with each passing day, but Maker, she was weak when it came to pulling upright. Anything that required she use her abdominal muscles was daunting, to say the least.

Cameron hadn't been by in at least an hour, which she was grateful for. Her husband was the love of her life, but his incessant hovering was making it very hard not to shout in his face that she was perfectly capable of using the loo all by herself, thank you very much. His misplaced guilt at the delivery of their son was quickly making her lose her mind.

She sighed, preparing to stand, when the door to their marital suite opened, Cameron entering. "Crap," she muttered. She'd hoped to get out of the room before he discovered her plan.

"Marie! What are ye doing?" Cameron barked, hurrying over and taking her arm.

"I'm standing up, Cam," she replied, hoping her annoyance wasn't in her tone.

"Alone? The healer said ye should be resting!" he argued, trying to push her back down. "I can bring you whatever ye need." He turned to his daughters. "Lassies, off to the nursery with you, my loves. Your mother needs her rest, now."

She resisted his nudge and didn't sit; instead, she stepped forward. "They don't need to go."

"They do, it's been long enough," he argued, not looking at her as he supervised the children gathering their things. "Dinnae forget your book, Hannah," he said, pointing to what he knew was his eldest's favorite story.

The girls obeyed their father and blowing kisses, called their farewells as they filed out the door.

"They were fine with me," she said with a huff. "There's no need to manage me, or them, for that matter. Now, excuse me, I want to go to tea."

His head snapped up and he again placed his hand on her arm. "Woman, ye listen tae me," he began in a sharp tone, but she pointed her finger in his face and he stopped, staring down at the tip of her finger.

"Cameron, I'm fine! I'm completely and totally fine!" she snapped. "But you won't be much longer if you don't let me out of this room and stop coddling me like a child!"

"But, Marie!"

She stepped to him and poked him in his chin. "No! Stop this! I want to get dressed, and I want to take tea with the girls! I want to go outside of this bloody room! Maker's balls, Cam, I want to _walk_ more than ten feet without you trying to carry me back to bed!"

He frowned fiercely. "No, ye only had the lad four days ago! Ye are going back to bed!"

"Cameron Avery so help me…." she growled and then sighed. "I'm fine. I feel good, healthy and normal. I'm going mad in here!"

"Normal? Ye nearly died, woman!" he barked, his tone much harsher than he'd intended. He stepped back and looked away from her.

"Cam."

"Have ye any idea how close ye came to leavin' us?" he whispered in a strangled voice.

She dropped her hand and sighed, shaking her head. "Yes," she finally replied softly. "But I'm here, love, I didn't die and I'm not going to. He's fine, I'm fine, we're both fine, Cam."

"I'm not," he replied. "Andraste help me, I'm not."

She felt her heart crack at his words and wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek against his doublet. A moment later he folded her into his arms.

"I'm sorry that I scared you so," she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I won't do it again, I promise. But I can't stay in here forever, darling, I need things to get back to normal. It may do us both some good, if I could do that."

He nodded, his beautiful face tight with pain. "Aye, I know."

She smiled gently at him. "How about I stay in my nightgown and you let me sit on the settee instead? And in a bit, maybe the girls could take tea with us?"

"Will ye take yer tea in the bed?"

She shook her head. "No, but I'll take a rest right after, in the bed, I promise."

He sighed and kissed her gently. "Agreed," he said against her lips. "But the girls cannae play on the bed while ye rest, am I clear, woman?"

"Yes," she smiled.

Cameron gazed down at her, his thumb tracing the elegant slope of her high cheekbone. "I love ye, Marie Avery, I love ye madly."

"I love you, too," she answered, hugging him close.

They held each other for a few quiet moments before she looked up at him. "So, have you decided on our son's name yet?"

His smile faltered and she nearly laughed in his face. She truly loved this man, she thought. "You've no idea what to name our firstborn son, do you?"

"Well, it's not that," he stammered.

"Uh-huh," she answered, arching an eyebrow. "Then…what is it? I wouldn't want him to start thinking his name is 'lad'."

He forced a smile and patted her on the back, stepping out of their embrace so quickly he had to balance her. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just…well, it's a big thing, choosing a lad's…er, a boy's name. He's tae be a man someday, and he'll be saddled with his father's choice for all o' his days."

She nodded. "Yes, kind of like your daughters are, although you had no trouble with their names," she pointed out. "Girls don't get to swap out their names at maturity or anything, just so you know."

"Huh, fancy that," he replied quickly. "Ye look famished! I'll just send for tea, then," he said, hurrying toward the exit.

"Cam!" she called and he stopped abruptly, slowly turning around. "I like 'Hubert," she offered, trying not to grin.

Her husband's face screwed up in disdain. "Bloody hell, woman! That's awful!"

"Well, there's also Egbert, Maurice or Aloysius."

He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind and she struggled to not crack a smile. The longer he stared at her, the harder it became and she finally burst out with laughter. "Oh, I wish you could see your face!" she exclaimed, her hand on her tender middle as she giggled.

He slowly smiled and stalked toward her. "Ye are an evil shrew of a woman!" he teased, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. "Ye had me there, for a moment."

She looked up. "It's silly, you know, this Avery tradition of the father naming the child," she said. "Why can't I just…"

"Aye, I know, I know, but tradition is important," he explained with a sigh. "I dinnae know why I can't pick a name for him, but it's got me flummoxed, that's for certain. I think it's because his being a _he_ surprised me so."

"I gave you plenty of notice, had you listened. He looks just like you though, don't you think?" she asked. "And Cameron is a good name. Why not name him after you?"

"Because everyone is expecting me to," he reasoned. "And I hate doing what everyone expects, that's why."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, just do me a favor, please? Pick a name before he's baptized."

He shrugged. "That should be easy enough, love, that's a week away!"

"No, it's three days away," she replied. "It's a week after the birth, you know that, and I had him four days ago. The revered mother already sent over the writ."

His face fell. "Bollocks."

**xXx**

Lorelai wandered through the palace gardens, the latest blooms fragrant and bouncing in the gentle breeze. She loved this part of the gardens, they were exclusively for her and Sebastian's use, and with the exception of a few gardening staff who cared for it in the early mornings, it was utterly private, something that she'd come to cherish.

Her life had taken such a radical turn since she'd left Kirkwall, more than she could have ever fathomed. Her heart had healed since Anders's betrayal, or at least what parts of it could. She knew now that she would never be able to fully purge him from her mind as she'd so desperately wished she could so many months ago, but she was no longer angered by this.

Time and Sebastian's extraordinary patience had allowed her to see that her love for Anders had been right and good, and that she was not to blame for his dark path. She realized now that her love for him wasn't a reason for sadness and that it had brought her to the place she now called home.

And into the arms of the man who had showed her not only unrestrained love, but how to forgive.

The baby in her womb would never know its father, it would only know the steady and constant love of its two _parents_. She'd once wondered how her husband could have possibly offered her his vow that he could and would love the child inside of her, the child of his mortal enemy, the child of a murderer, but she no longer questioned his words, and together they'd healed and she now looked forward to parenthood.

Pregnancy had been so very different than what she'd expected. Her cravings and aversions had improved in the last few weeks and many of her other symptoms had relaxed as well. Her body hadn't grown fat or soft as she'd feared, but instead she felt beautiful and happy. Her mind wandered to the passionate night she'd recently shared with Sebastian and she let out a sultry chuckle.

Maker, she loved that man.

"Hello," purred a very familiar voice from behind her. She smiled as Sebastian wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. "That _particular_ sound has me wondering what my beautiful wife is thinking about," he growled against her ear, sending delicious chills through her frame.

"What sound?" she replied innocently. His lips found the tender skin behind her ear.

"That little laugh of yours," he answered, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh. "It's the same one you have when you're naked and in my arms."

She pressed herself back against him. "Hmmm, well, perhaps I was thinking about being in your arms, then."

"Then perhaps we'd best go to our rooms," he rasped. "Else I may be tempted to hear that lovely sound out here in the garden."

He turned her around in his arms and kissed her slowly, his tongue teasing hers as he cradled her face tenderly.

"It _is_ a very _private_ garden, Seb," she said against his lips.

He pulled back slightly and gave her a scandalized look.

She ran her hands up his chest and unbuttoned his collar, exposing a little of his tanned chest. Their gazes held while she opened the next button, and then the next, but as she moved lower his hand gently grasped her wrist.

"Darlin', you could tempt the Maker himself," he growled. "But there's no such thing as _private_ if we're not in our own bed; gilded cage, and all that."

She placed a slow kiss to his chest and then the base of his throat. "Then you'd better take me to our rooms, Sebastian, because I don't have the discipline that you do," she confessed, running her hands down his toned body.

His eyes darkened and he pulled her quickly along behind him, practically hauling her through the entrance to their apartments, her husky laughter echoing through the halls. They arrived at their bedroom and it was she who slammed the door, locking it behind them.

She wrapped herself around him – as best as her belly would allow – and finished the work she'd started on his shirt. He rather ungracefully opened her bodice and they sat back into the chair at the vanity, his arms careful to protect her as he settled her onto his lap.

Not more than an hour later, he smiled in great satisfaction as he again heard that lovely laugh.

She was straddling him, her hair a cascade of tumbling blonde curls as she purred in his arms, the want gone from her eyes, replaced with a languid happiness. "I love you," she whispered, kissing his chin.

"And I you, Darlin'."

"Thank you for making me leave Kirkwall," she said quietly, stroking his face, his heavy stubble starting to show as the day ended.

He looked thoughtful as he hugged her close. "You're very welcome, but what makes ye think of that, Lorelai?"

She held her head sideways and sighed, studying his handsome face. "You have the most amazing blue eyes, you know that?"

He didn't reply, but instead continued to hold her, his hands rubbing her back.

"Anders made me think of it, actually," she finally confessed. "I was thinking about how much I've changed since I left with you, and how much happier I am," she explained. "And I was thinking about the baby and its father, and how blessed this child is to have you as its da instead."

His warm hands rested on her naked belly. "I'm afraid, ye know," he said in a tiny voice.

"What?" she asked in surprise and concern. She put her hands over his. "Of what?"

He didn't look at her, he just gazed at her hands lying on top of his. "That something will happen to ye, as it did to Marie," he said slowly. "I've spent every moment since I convinced ye to marry me planning how best to protect ye, on how to keep the darkness of Anders and his actions from touching ye, from sullying ye both. But I cannot protect ye from something like _that,_ can I? "

She was quiet for a moment before she slowly answered. "No, Seb, you can't," she conceded honestly. "No one can protect anyone from something like that."

He nodded, his eyes finally meeting hers. "I can't keep it from my mind," he confessed. "She was so close to death, Lorelai, and Cam! Maker, Cameron was bloody terrified of losing her…"

"You're not going to lose me, Sebastian, you're _not_," she vowed. "Now I've finally found you…_us_. There's no way I'm going anywhere."

He kissed her forehead and she leaned against him, snuggling into his chest. "Is this why you finally sent the letter to the Divine?"

"Yes, I'm a selfish man," he whispered. "It's been sitting on my desk for nearly a month. I realized that without healers, danger can come from things far more insidious that a fight or brawl," he explained, his chin resting on top of her head. "Illness and disease threaten our people if there's no help to be had. Watching Marie the other night made that all too clear to me."

She pushed off of his chest and kissed him before she stood. Offering her hand to him, he stood up and they walked together to their bed, where he climbed in and she settled next to him. He rolled onto his side and held her close, his nose buried in her hair.

"Who was the healer at the Averys'?" Lorelai asked after a few quiet minutes.

Sebastian shrugged. "I honestly don't know. His name was Fletcher, and I believe Mrs. Hutchinson had sent for him, but how she knows him, I couldn't say."

She nodded. "He had a Fereldan accent," she noted. "So he's clearly not from here. I wonder how Mrs. Hutchinson knows him?"

"Apparently, Cameron would like to offer the man a boon of some sort," he replied. "But he's not returned to the home."

"Hmmm," she muttered and then sighed. "Thank you for being worried for us," she whispered. "I know the answer from the Divine will probably come well after this baby is born, but I love you for doing all of this, for us, for Starkhaven."

He sighed and she felt tension in his muscles.

"You know," she began slowly, "the Court of Orlais has a royal healer, doesn't it? I believe the King of Antiva does as well, or rather, one of the princes there; not sure which one, there are a _lot_ of princes in Antiva."

"Aye," he breathed. "Are you suggesting we establish such a position here in our court?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm suggesting."

"But there's no circle here from which to recruit," he argued. "Who would we appoint?"

"Well, that Fletcher fellow did a decent enough job, didn't he?" she reasoned. "And we've got Samson here, as well as the other private guard who's been trained to smite. Perhaps, if Fletcher could be located, he might be persuaded to help us."

"Until the circle is formed," he added.

"Or not. We don't know what the answer from the Divine will be, and, in the meantime, at least there would be an acknowledged healer in Starkhaven," she continued. "I mean, I realize he may end up being the busiest healer in all of Thedas once word gets out, but it's better than no one."

"What mage in his right mind would actually desire to be the only known healer for Starkhaven?"

"I doubt very seriously that we'll have wagons of sick and injured pulling up at the palace gates, Seb," she argued. "I mean, the people have gone without a circle and non-apostate healers here for nearly six years, they've found other resources. But this would be a way for the more desperate to get help."

"You want us to track down an apostate and offer him employ, and inadvertently, our royal protection," he surmised. "And you wish to allow those in peril to request his aid?"

"Okay, well, when you say the first part like _that_, it sounds a little brazen, but…yes. That's about it."

He rose up on his elbow and traced her nose with the tip of his finger. "Actually, it's a sound idea, Darlin'," he admitted. "And if the Divine agrees with my plan, then we can give him the option of remaining and submitting to the laws of the Circle, or…"

"Or," she interrupted. "We let him quietly slip out the back."

He frowned.

"Seb," she began, seeing the conviction in his eyes, "Fletcher's a free man right now, and we can't ask him to do this without allowing him to make the choice to remain free later on."

She saw that her argument hit home and he nodded. "Then I will make sure he understands our plans well in advance, so he may make an educated decision. But I cannot willingly allow an apostate to avoid the Circle once it's established here."

"That's a Templar's job, Sebastian."

They didn't agree, but they both understood it was a moot point until the apostate in question had been found, and neither chose to argue about it.

"I'll speak with Cameron tomorrow," he announced. "We'll see if Fletcher can even be located, agreed?"

"Agreed."

He stared down at her and she smiled slowly, warmth spreading through her core.

"Lorelai," he whispered. "You shouldn't look at a man like that."

"I shouldn't?" she sighed. "Pity, that."

He chuckled. "Aye, it makes me wonder what's going on in that pretty head of yours," he explained, his hand traveling down her naked body. He found her center and she lifted herself against him.

"Still wondering or did you figure it out?" she teased.

"Aye," he moaned and settled back as she rolled to straddle him again. "I believe I'm putting it all together."

She laughed and made certain he understood.

_**A HUGE thank you to Lisa, who squeezed this beta in after a very busy shift and a duck meeting! Thank you very much!**_

_**Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing and your subscriptions. I can't tell you how much I appreciate each one and am thrilled you're still here with me! Thanks!**_


	32. A Girl Named Carp

**A Girl Named Carp**

The morning grew late as Lorelai spoke with the head footman, Geoffrey. Today the prince and princess would host an elaborate luncheon in honor of the baptism of their godson, the yet unnamed infant of the Tisdale house. The attention to detail was extraordinary and Lorelai had just finished commending the staff for their remarkable work when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

"Well, hello!" Lorelai beamed in response.

"There you are!" Marie said cheerily, a large smile on her lovely face. As she approached, Lorelai returned the grin and opened her arms, and the friends hugged one another in greeting. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt! I thought you were finished, forgive me!"

Lorelai nodded to Geoffrey who bowed and stepped away. "We were just finished! Maker, but you look wonderful, Marie!" the princess exclaimed. "No one would ever know you'd been laid low by the birth. How are you?"

"I'm well," Marie replied before she slowly looked around the room, her mouth hanging open. "Lorelai…this is magnificent! What an event this has become!"

"It's going to be wonderful, I've just seen the completed menu and plans," she answered before she lowered her voice. "And thank the Maker for the people here, for without them, Sebastian may realize he's married a girl born and bred in Lothering!"

"Oh, well, I doubt that. If the smell of wet dog hasn't clued him in, nothing will!" Marie teased in reply.

"Oy! Cheeky cow," Lorelai laughed. "I think it fair to remind you that while we Fereldans aren't perfect, we don't need a translator to order a pint!"

Marie snorted a laugh. "You've got me there," she admitted with a chuckle, before she met Lorelai's eyes. "For the record, you're handling your new role very well," she said with sincerity.

Lorelai sighed. "Thanks," she replied quietly. "There's a big part of me that's still waiting for Seb to wake up and realize he's made a colossal mistake in me."

"Oh, I think you're likely safe," Marie said confidently. She squeezed Lorelai's hand. "In truth, Cam says he's never seen Sebastian so sure of himself and I happen to agree. I realize there's still a lot of work to be done, hurdles to clear to set things here right, but…he's _happy_, Lorelai, and that's because of you."

Lorelai nodded, looking down. "I hope so."

"I did say how amazing everything looked, didn't I?"

Lorelai grinned. "Yes, you did."

"Well, don't misunderstand when I ask this- you _know_ we're very grateful - but, isn't this all a bit grand? I mean, the Tisdale title _is_ just that of a baron, after all, hardly worth all this fuss."

The princess glanced around and shrugged. "Yes, but this is the first godchild of Sebastian's reign."

"Ah, another chance to show the court their new prince is as 'royal' as they could hope for?"

"That's part of it perhaps," Lorelai explained softly. "But I think he truly wishes to celebrate today…you gave us all quite a scare, Marie."

Marie sighed. "I know," she whispered. "My memory is still a bit of a jumble, but last night I dreamt of it; I hope to never do so again."

"Well, it's over now, and today we rejoice…and eat far too much as we do so," Lorelai quipped, patting her belly.

Marie snorted. "Can't wait for that part, can you?"

"There's treacle pudding," Lorelai grinned and they shared a laugh before Lorelai changed the subject. "What name did you and Cam choose?"

"Oh, don't even get me started on _that_," Marie answered with a huff. "My husband's complete inability to select a name for our son was funny a few days ago, but today I may kill him."

Lorelai gaped. "Are you telling me that…"

"That there's _still_ no name for my beautiful and sweet baby boy?" Marie said quickly, her right eyebrow arched. "Yes, that's _exactly_ what I'm telling you. Cam confessed last night he has no idea what to name him."

"Oh, wow."

"'Wow?' There's a reasonable and calm reaction. I _didn't_ take it as well as you are," Marie continued, crossing her arms. "_I_ threatened Cameron's manhood and then threw him out of our bedroom. I swear, his brain has completely and utterly frozen up from this and I'm petrified he's going to declare our son's given name as Constance when we're at the altar today!"

Lorelai clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle and stared at Marie.

"Laugh it up, but I'm telling you, Lorelai, this baptism may well end in murder," Marie huffed.

"What name do _you_ want him to have?"

"Liam," Marie replied readily. "I think Liam Avery is a strong name, it's very traditional for Starkhaven. Besides, it means 'protector' in the old tongue, and as a fellow with three sisters, there's no avoiding _that_ role in his future life, so he may as well have it for a name."

Lorelai smiled. "Oh, I really like that! What does Cam think of it?"

"Nothing! That's what's so idiotic about this entire situation! The fathers in his family have always chosen the name of the child, always! Cameron refuses to deviate from that and will not allow me to even hint at the name I'd like the children to have," she explained. "I'm just grateful that Cam's not an idiot about it. Do you know he has a distant cousin named Carp? Apparently, _her_ father likes to _fish_."

"Oh my, that's…just really, really bad," Lorelai said with a grimace. "Well, Cam wouldn't do _that_, right?"

"Not if he wants to see another sunrise," Marie frowned. "Ugh, it's getting late; you'd best go finish dressing. I'll see you in the chapel. I appreciate you listening to me whine about this."

Lorelai grinned. "Anytime, that's what friends are for, right?" she replied as she turned to depart the hall, before pausing. "Marie? Don't worry, this will work out."

"Yes, it'll work out that my son is named 'door knob'."

**xXx**

"There are _how_ many here?"Anders stammered, staring down at the inventory of the property he'd purchased only a few days earlier.

The solicitor, Ronin Yuri, who had originally represented the seller, had been a significant help to Anders during the transaction. Now that the sale was final, Anders had hired the firm to function as his personal delegate, and Yuri's partner, Isabella Monroe, had been assigned as Anders's personal liaison.

Anders knew very little of the politics and practices within the Imperium, but was aware things moved at a ruthless pace. Ignorance of even the smallest detail could kill any hope Anders had of establishing a formidable reputation before he'd even had a chance to start his new life here.

It was not a risk he was willing to take.

"Twenty-four, ser," she stated. "It's a good lot. Of that number, sixteen are under the age of twenty and the oldest is thirty-six."

"I didn't _buy_ people, Isabella, I bought the estate," Anders snapped. "I am no slave owner."

"They come with the estate, and they are very much _your_ slaves, ser," she replied firmly. "This is standard practice here with such a sale."

"Well, I don't want them, set them free or something," he said quickly. "I won't keep them."

"Then your time here will be remarkably short."

His eyes narrowed, flashing with anger, but his tone was even when he spoke. "I have spent my entire life under the oppression of others. I will never subject another creature to such a life, _never_."

She shrugged. "I admire your convictions, ser, but they will do you little good here, certainly not if you intend to climb socially. Now, if the goals you shared with our firm have suddenly changed, please advise me of such, and I will adjust my advice. If not, then you need to consider this decision carefully."

His frown intensified.

"Ser, you hired me for my knowledge of things here, and I only give you my honest answer. If you free these slaves you will become the laughing stock of the city," she explained. "Beyond that, when your choice to release them is questioned, and I assure you, ser, _it will be, _it's likely you will be revealed as a mage who does not use the power of blood to enhance his magic. That little jewel of information will make you the target of every power-hungry upstart in the empire."

"I do _not_ need to resort to blood magic to defend myself; my connection with the Fade would make most _demons_ jealous, it's so strong," he replied with a snort. "I travelled the Fade with a spirit of Justice and he travelled this world in my body. Blood magic is child's play compared to what I have tapped into."

"So you say," the solicitor drawled, clearly unimpressed. "All the same, any plans that you may have to expand your power here, to build up your coffers and to protect your family when they arrive will be seriously impeded. If nothing else, the distraction of honoring the duels is reason enough to avoid them. Winner takes all is the only way the magisters do business."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that releasing your current slaves will only result in you owning more. Release those, and you will face more challenges; assuming you win them, the vanquished mage's property is absorbed into your own. You'll be gaining new slaves for having freed the last," the lawyer said. "A rather vicious cycle to begin, the likes of which ends only when you either decide to keep your slaves, or are finally bested in a duel, forfeiting them to your challenger. Either way, you do the slaves who you currently own very little good."

She sat back, arching a slim eyebrow as she waited for his answer.

Anders was quiet for several minutes, considering the ramifications of the choice he must make. Bile climbed up his throat and he snatched up his goblet of wine, drinking heavily from it before he felt his nerves calm. He knew what he must do.

"If I keep them, I will require that they are well-housed and fed – and I mean _properly_, to _my_ standards," he rasped. "I will not allow any sort of abuse to continue, assuming there is any, and I will speak with whoever is in charge of…them. I want my expectations to be made very clear."

Isabella inclined her head. "A wise decision, ser," she said softly. "I would caution you against being perceived as too generous a master, at least for now. Their last owner was a cruel man and there may be some who will see your kindness as weakness, making your safety questionable; a slave attacking his master is rare, but not unheard of."

"These people will know soon enough that no harm will come to them from me," he answered firmly.

"Be that as it may, you would do well to remember that your ideas will be foreign to them," she advised. "It will take some time for your property to have any confidence in how you handle them. Do not expect them to see you as some benevolent caretaker."

"Are you always so chipper, Isabella?" he snapped, frowning fiercely.

She stood. "My work – _your_ well-being – is paramount, is it not?" she asked. "You didn't hire me for my kindness, ser, but that does not mean I _lack_ it. My private thoughts on how you handle this have little to do with how it _should_ be addressed."

Anders nodded.

"Now, to other business," she said, pulling an envelope from her satchel. "These are the candidates that I recommend for the position you propose. I've made some notes of each person's current financial situation and their reputation, as well as any rumors attached to them."

He took the envelope and together they turned toward the study door. "Thank you, I will review it carefully and let you know whom I select."

Isabella paused. "I wish to renew my concerns of buying the loyalty of a person within the court there," she said. "Politics in Starkhaven are particularly nasty, especially of late. The whims of the nobles there have become notorious in the last several years, their soon-to-be renounced prince exerted little control over them, and the nobles took great advantage of this."

"Then you'd best ensure whoever I choose has some vice or weakness we can exploit, hadn't you?" he snapped. "Your _opinion_ regarding anything I do outside of Tevinter is unwanted. You're here to advise me on practices _here_, in Tevinter, not elsewhere. Do not overstep your role again, am I clear?"

With a curt nod, the solicitor departed, her chin held high.

**xXx**

Elena was hidden behind a thick bramble of bush. Fenris and Keegan were slowly moving into their positions and her bow was drawn, her arrow nocked and trained on the largest slaver in the clearing.

There were only seven slavers to eliminate, and they were spread across the camp, each man attending to some menial task, only two – her first two targets – still carrying their swords. Her confidence was high. She and Keegan had faced nearly double that number and still found success. Today would be simple, just as she'd assured Fenris it would be.

She smiled in satisfaction. She couldn't wait to rub the handsome elf's nose in how accurate her prediction had been. _This_ would prove to him she was no delicate maid, that she was as capable a fighter as he.

"Hope you wanted _crow_ for dinner, Fenris," she whispered smugly to herself.

Her mind wandered for a split-second, thinking of the look he was sure to have once he'd realized how wrong he'd been…and then she thought of how diligently he'd trained over the last few days, preparing for this attack. He'd demonstrated such ability and grace; his skill had been great, as had been his uncovered chest, his muscles strained with each practiced stance…

She swallowed hard, clearing her thoughts of anything save her target.

Her eyes darted between the two elves and, seeing they were in place, listened for Keegan to signal. His well-practiced bird's call sounded and her arrow released, sinking cleanly into the eye of the first slaver. She nocked a second arrow and fired, eliminating the second armed man, and then felled a third before the remaining four could even gather their shields.

Those in the camp were soon in a complete panic, the horses screamed and the idiotic slavers hid behind their wagon, uncertain from which direction the arrows were coming. She smiled – they chose the wrong side to hunker down on. Two more arrows found their targets as the remaining men scrambled in opposite directions; Keegan and Fenris charged then, quickly finishing off the final slavers.

With a cocky grin, she stood and stepped out from her cover.

"Bitch!" screamed a man, and Elena swiveled on her heel in time to find a small elf's contorted face in hers, and his fist solidly connected with her throat. She staggered back, losing her footing in the tall grass and tumbled backwards. The elf leapt upon her.

He had a blade, a rusty and pathetic looking one, but a blade all the same. She got her hands around his wrist and kept its tip from slashing her face but her struggle allowed him to straddle her and his body weight was fully behind his purpose.

He was small and she managed to roll them to their sides, his shift in balance giving her a brief advantage; she twisted the blade, blood spurting from her palms as she gripped it, but she wrenched it from his grasp. He scrambled back, his hands digging into the thick grass as he pulled himself free from her and sat up, ready to pounce anew.

She lunged forward and sunk the blade into his middle just as his chest exploded, blood splattering her face. She suddenly found herself on her feet and she nearly lost her balance, but a strong arm held her close, keeping her steady.

She blinked rapidly, dazed, and pushed her hair out of her eyes, blood from her hands smearing across her brow, and saw it was Fenris who held her, the look in his eyes deadly.

"Are you injured?" he queried in a horrible voice. She shivered at his hard tone and shook her head, and despite his obvious fury, he gently took her hand and turned it palm up, the slashes there seeping with her blood. He forced her other hand over and gazed at the wounds before he grasped her shoulders and forced her back a step where he studied her for further injuries.

"I'm fine, really," she breathed. She stared at the dead elf at their feet, her eyes locked onto the hole in his chest, the blade she'd sunk into his belly several inches below. "How did you do that?"

He ignored her. "Have you any other wounds?"

"No," she replied. "Fenris, how did you do that to him?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You were careless," he accused. "You should not have left your cover so soon."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?" she cried. "Careless? He's _not_ a slaver, Fenris!"

"No, he was not. He was a pathetic, mindless thing who sought to protect his keepers," he snarled. "Regardless, he still could have killed you!"

"Are you kidding me? That poor bloke?" she sputtered. "I shoved his knife in him at the same moment you did…_whatever_ the hell it is you did. He was finished!"

"And if he'd been the first of several such wretched souls? Have you never encountered a slave so broken by his enslavement that he would fight to safeguard his captors? How would you have defended yourself from another assailant?" he snarled. He bent and roughly pulled the knife from the elf's body; its blade was now broken. "_With this_?"

She stepped close and, with a flourish, drew a dagger from her jerkin. "No! With this you arrogant prat!" she declared, but he noticed she flinched from holding the hilt.

"And had they known your grip was weak?" he said in a low voice, his strong fingers running down her arm. He gently squeezed her hand, the one which clung to her dagger and she grimaced slightly in pain. "What then, fair Elena?"

They stood together, his hand cradling hers as they held each other's eyes.

"I _had_ it," she hissed angrily.

"Ahem," said Keegan from behind Fenris. "You, uh, you alright there, Elena? Fenris?"

She didn't move away from Fenris but looked at Keegan. "I'm fine."

"As am I."

"Good. Well, if you two are done, there's about a dozen people we need to free and get home," the older elf reminded them. "It'll be dark in a few hours, so we'd best get a move on, agreed?" he asked and without waiting for their reply, moved back to the camp.

"Agreed," replied Fenris, his hand releasing hers as he spoke. She stepped past him and stalked away, waves of anger radiating from her tense form.

"Elena?" he called after her, pleased to see she'd yielded, though she did not turn.

"What?" she asked sourly, hands on hips.

"Your arrows were true."

She looked over her shoulder at him, her violet eyes meeting his green ones. "Thank you for coming to my aid," she replied.

He nodded and approached, while she waited for him to reach her side.

"Even though I _didn't_ _need_ _it_," she finished with a smug grin.

He shrugged and began to walk away.

"I didn't!" she insisted loudly, staring at his back.

He continued on toward the camp, ignoring her completely.

Her eyes narrowed. "Of all the…son of a…_hey_!" she called after him. "Fenris!" she yelled but the warrior didn't stop. "Damn it!" she hissed under her breath. "Crow! _You_ were the one supposed to be eating it, not _me_!"

She scrambled to catch up to him, cursing all the way.

**xXx**

The Grand Cleric of Starkhaven, Violet Horace, newly appointed and freshly arrived from Ferelden, was nearly finished reading from the Chant of Light and smiled kindly at the illustrious crowd gathered for baptism of the newest member of the Tisdale house.

Her sermon complete, she paused to allow the chanters their part of the sacrament and indulged in studying the revered persons standing at her side.

The mother of the child quietly cooed at her tiny babe, safely snuggled into his godmother's arms. Violet had heard many good things about the merchant's daughter who'd married up, and, after their brief meeting before the service, she knew she looked forward to coming to know her better.

The babe's father was a man of remarkable good looks and height; he was taller than anyone she'd met. His reputation was that of a rascal, though many had qualified that fact by noting he'd become a dedicated family man. Studying him carefully, it occurred to Violet that he appeared ready to bolt, his eyes darting around the chantry nervously. Wondering at this, Violet came to the final part of the ceremony and raised her hands, indicating the crowd should stand.

"The faithful shall rise," she called in a booming voice. "Lift your voices to the heavens so the Maker can hear your pledge," she continued. "Do you, these witnesses gathered today, hereby vow to emulate the example of our Holy Maker, forever a model to this child?"

"We do," answered the crowd in unison.

She turned to Marie and Cameron. "And do you, as parents of this child, vow to raise him in the full faith and teachings of our Maker and his Holy Bride? Do you promise to model your family as commanded by the Maker, thereby creating a home of faith, lighting this innocent's way?"

"We do."

Violet turned to the Vaels. "As the godparents of this child, will you swear to protect, defend and safeguard this young one's faith?"

Sebastian smiled softly at Lorelai, glancing down at his godson and her swollen belly. "We will," they answered together.

Violet inclined her head gracefully, acknowledging their vows, before turning her eyes back to the baby's parents. She stepped close and took the tiny bundle from his godmother's arms and moved to the small font, Lorelai and Sebastian following, their duties not yet complete.

"The Chant declares that our names will be called from the heavens, the Maker beckoning the faithful home," Violet continued, smiling down at the sleeping babe.

She carefully opened the outer layer of swaddled blankets, revealing the child's head and hands. Sebastian lifted the jewel encrusted goblet, filled with blessed anointing oil and together the four turned to face the congregation.

Looking expectantly at Cameron, the cleric resumed the ceremony. "As this child is baptized in the Makers's Glory, please declare his name," she requested as the prince held the goblet, her fingers poised to dip into the golden liquid.

"Uh, right…" he began, his eyes darting around the chantry. His mouth moved, but no sound emitted.

Violet arched a grey eyebrow, its mate rising a moment later, but still, the baron could not speak. The crowd began to notice, whispers and quiet giggles echoing around them.

Lady Tisdale elbowed her husband and he looked down at her, his face contorted in absolute misery.

"Liam," the prince said softly from Violet's side, speaking to the panicked father.

"What? Lime?" the babe's father whispered back.

"No, you bampot, _Liam,"_ rasped the blue-eyed prince, his voice barely carrying beyond their group.

The handsome man grinned, nodding. "Liam!" he cried triumphantly, the congregation laughing softly behind him. "Aye, that's it, I like that!" he said to the prince, his voice lowered significantly.

Violet glanced between the father and the prince. "Boys, is it just Liam, or is there more? He's a noble, they _do_ tend to have rather long names," she said out of the side of her mouth.

The prince blinked a few times, waiting for the baron to answer, but the tall man again appeared completely lost. Sighing, he tried to answer her discretely. "Uh, how about, Liam Cameron Arthur Avery."

Marie smiled widely at Sebastian who then nodded vigorously at Violet.

Shaking her own head, Violet suppressed a smile. "Are you all in agreement, then?"

"Aye, your Grace," Baron Tisdale said quickly, his face bright red but his nervous countenance gone.

"As you say, then," Violet whispered and resumed the service. "Liam Cameron Arthur Avery, in the name of the Maker I hereby baptize you in the faith of your father and his father before him," she announced as she placed a dot of the oil on his forehead and chin. "I baptize you in the faith of your mother and her mother before her," she continued, dotting the oil on to his tiny hands. "I baptize you in the faith of Andraste, bride of the Maker and merciful advocate of our plight. May the Maker watch over you and may He guide you forever more."

The chanters, taking their cue from the cleric's practiced words, began their chant, their sing-song voices melding together beautifully. Violet closed her eyes and sighed, placing a quick kiss to the baby's temple before handing him back to his mother.

"Thank you," the pretty young mother said quietly.

Violet nodded. "I believe it's the prince who you should be thanking," she whispered, her eyes twinkling.

"You've _no_ idea how correct you are, your Grace," she replied, shooting a hard look at her husband who blanched.

Violet patted Marie's arm reassuringly as she stepped past, preparing to lead their procession from the chapel. "Being _simple_ isn't something he can be faulted for, dear," she whispered, referring to Cameron and glancing in his direction. "But at least he's _very_ nice to look at, and tall; I hear _that's_ a good thing for a marriage as well," she observed before stepping down from the altar.

Cameron stared after the cleric. "Did…did she just say what I think she did?" he asked, aghast.

Marie grinned. "I think she did! I must say, I applaud the Divine's choice in her, our new cleric's quite insightful!"

Sebastian chuckled, offering his arm to his wife as they joined the procession. "I agree, Marie, she seems rather good at reading people, despite their complexities…or lack of them."

Cameron stopped short, causing the entire line to halt awkwardly. "Oy! Seb, if ye hadn't just saved my berries from a solid kickin', I'd lay ye flat," he hissed.

"Of that I have _serious_ doubt, my friend," Sebastian sniggered. "Don't be angry, pal, look at it this way, at least the lad isn't named Constance."

"Or Carp," Lorelai offered, to which Cameron pulled a face.

"Aye," Cameron sighed, his anger disappearing. "Fair point."

Marie tugged at his arm, making her husband resume his cadence, but not before she mouthed a quick 'thank you' to Lorelai who winked in return.

**xXx**

The sun was setting as they departed the palace, the formal luncheon complete. The leather was supple under his gnarled fingers as he traced the stitching of the seat of his coach. Once they'd passed the palace gates, he cleared his throat.

"It occurs tae me that we're gettin' vary little information for our investment, would ye no' agree?"

His companion nodded slowly.

"It's been seven months since they murdered the grand cleric o' Kirkwall, yet the Divine makes no demands o' the prince," he continued. "And despite the transition o' the court, the young prince continues tae find time tae snoop into our affairs."

"I find it disappointin' that the Coterie have proven themselves so…ineffective," his companion added. "Our interests have yet tae be disturbed but it's no longer safe tae trust they won't be. I believe we should consider takin' control o' the situation, before it takes control o' us."

He sighed, tapping his fingers lightly. "I reluctantly agree, my friend."

"Perhaps we could even collect the bounty on the champion," the other man chuckled. "Assumin' we can ever learn who backs the contract."

"That's irrelevant tae our purpose," he replied. "The scheme in Ferelden is worth ten times the contract."

"Every man likes a profit."

He ignored his comment. "Are we in agreement, then?"

"We are," the other man answered.

"And soon; it's best if it's before she can deliver the bairn."

"Aye, two birds with one stone," his companion replied. "Eliminatin' his woman an' his heir is best for our goals, makes the lad vulnerable and will likely make him easier tae control in the long run. How?"

"Those are details for the assassins," he scoffed. "As long as our interests are protected, how is o' no matter tae me. Just get it done and fast."

With a quiet nod of agreement, the gentlemen moved onto other business.

_**A massive thank you to my beta, Lisa. She's the tamer of galleries, the thrasher of floors, lamps, chairs...ya know, general household goods...no wild hooligan settee is gonna get one over on her!**_

_**Thanks to each of you for following, reviewing and taking the time to read my drivel...y'all rock!**_

_**Happy Chanukah!**_


	33. Turning Point

_**A/N: Thank you for your patience! A quick synopsis since it's been so long! **_

_**Lorelai and Sebastian are awaiting the birth of her child, and he's resolved to bring magic back to Starkhaven, while Lorelai is growing into her role as princess. Aveline and Varric are tracking down the last of the leads that they hope will bring them closer to stopping the Coterie. Fenris has nearly recovered from his illness, brought on by his search for Anders, but he's found something compelling that he's loathe to depart from. Anders is settling into his new mansion in Tevinter, his ambitions still high and his determination to take back his family set.**_

**Turning Point**

Aveline sat quietly at her desk, her stack of ledgers and reports forgotten as she broke open the seal of the Princess of Starkhaven and eagerly unfolded the letter. Her eyes scanned the contents, a soft smile playing across her face as she drank in the latest update on the well-being of her dear friend.

"I do so love seeing you smile, Aveline," said a beloved voice, and she looked up to meet the eyes of Donnic, who had just finished his shift. "What have you got there?"

"A letter from Hawke," she answered. "It seems things are going well and she and Sebastian have settled in nicely at the palace. Her pregnancy is nearing its end already, can you believe it?"

"How is she feeling?"

"Fine, she says, though apparently the baby isn't a fan of the food in Starkhaven," she replied with a shake of her head. "She says Sebastian has taken to smuggling her more palatable dishes when the nobles aren't watching. Can you imagine living under such scrutiny that others observe your food choices? Maker, I think I'd go insane."

"Yes, I expect you would, love," he agreed with a soft chuckle. "It seems, at least from her last few letters, that she and Sebastian are finally more than friends."

"Indeed, they're living as a husband and wife should. I'm glad for them both, she needed to let go of Anders and I think Sebastian has loved Lorelai for some time. It's good to imagine that they're finding happiness together."

Donnic arched an eyebrow, noticing the second, smaller envelope that lay unopened. "What's that?"

Aveline looked down and tapped her finger on the second letter. "It's addressed to Fenris. I told Hawke a few letters ago that he'd gone after Justice. She's asked that I send this on to him."

"Good, knowing Hawke she'll likely talk Fenris out of this foolishness. She's the only one who could possibly convince him to return to Kirkwall and to do so without some convoluted sense of failure or guilt."

"You're right about that," she replied with a sigh. "If we're correct about the contents of the letter, then maybe we can dare hope that it, combined with both my and Varric's reports that Anders is in Tevinter, will bring our man back. I just hope he can find his own path to follow once he returns. Kirkwall is still on its ear and it's changed for the worse since he's left."

"Maybe his time spent traveling has given Fenris some time to think. He may well return here with a purpose, a new direction, you never know."

"Maker, I hope so," she said wistfully, shaking her head. "I'm afraid our own time here is coming to an end as it is. Knowing that Fenris may not be left blowing in the wind once we all go our separate ways would be a great weight off my shoulders."

"All of ours. At least we know Varric will look after Merrill," he stated, coming around his wife's desk to gently touch her red hair. "The day, my dear, is done. Are you ready to go home?"

She leaned against him and nodded. "I will be in a few minutes. I want to forward everything to Fenris immediately, and if I hurry I can catch tonight's courier. With luck, Fenris is still staying with the people who aided him during his illness and he'll get our reports and Hawke's letter in short order."

Donnic nodded. "I'll let you get on with it, then. Come find me in the common room when you're ready," he finished as he left her office, quietly closing the door behind him.

Aveline quickly laid both her and Varric's reports on top of each other and then Lorelai's small letter in their center, folding the stiff parchment into a larger envelope and then sealing it firmly with a large glob of red wax. She pressed the wax into shape with the seal of her office and checked it before nodding to herself, satisfied it was ready for the courier.

"Time to come home, Fenris," she whispered, getting to her feet and hurrying to dispatch her package.

**xXx**

Lorelai stood quietly in a corner of the main kitchens of the Tisdale estate, watching from afar as Mrs. Hutchinson skilfully directed her staff as they finished preparing the evening meal. She'd entered the large room and, realizing how busy everyone was, had not called out a hello, waiting instead for the kind housekeeper to spot her.

The white haired woman clucked her tongue at one of her staff, calling him over to her, pointing at the tray in his hands.

"The lad has proven a hearty eater, so be generous with his wet nurse's plate," she explained, adding a second serving of vegetables to the plate on the tray. "Now, stop in the larder and pour a second glass of the milk, she'll be needin' tae keep her belly full if she's tae keep up with our bairn. Off with ye!" she finished, shooing the man in the direction of the larder.

Turning around, her eyes landed on Lorelai and she gasped. "Oh, Maker have mercy, my dear lady, how long have ye been standin' there? Come in, come in! Is there somethin' I can do for ye?"

The other staff all stopped and looked at one another, each then quickly dipping into a curtsey or a bow as Lorelai stepped fully into the kitchen.

"Hello, everyone," Lorelai said quietly, smiling as she approached. "Please, don't stop your work on my account, I know I've interrupted you all at a busy time. I'm sorry to cause any disruption."

"Och, nothin' to apologize for, we've danced this dance a time or two and we'll get this fine supper plated and sent up without missing a step," Mrs. Hutchinson replied with a wave of her hand. "What can I do for ye?"

Lorelai stepped aside, allowing a worker to pass. "I was hoping that we could speak for a few moments, perhaps after dinner?"

"Of course! I'm at yer disposal, my dear. In fact, if ye'd like, I've just made a few pots o' tea. Would you like to join me for a cuppa now?"

"That would be wonderful, Mrs. Hutchinson," Lorelai answered, glancing around the room. "But our conversation is best had in private."

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded and moved to a side table, quickly assembling two cups of tea and setting it on a small tray. She took it up and looked to a middle-aged woman. "Betty, keep your eyes on that hourglass, it's near time tae take out the roasts. I'll be back in a tick, you're in charge. We'll be in the herb garden."

"Yes ma'am," Betty replied, bobbing a quick curtsey.

"Shall we?" Mrs. Hutchinson asked Lorelai, leading her out of the kitchen and through a side door.

Stepping outside, the women walked quietly to a small grouping of benches in the herb garden. Mrs. Hutchinson settled their tea tray on a bench as Lorelai sat down, taking her cup and saucer from the housekeeper.

"Thank you," she said with a smile, watching the elderly lady settle on the opposite bench. "I won't keep you, I know you're a busy lady."

"Happily so. Now, what, my dear, may I do for ye?"

Lorelai drew a breath, prepared to launch into her appeal for more information on the apostate that had saved Marie's life, but surprised herself at her next words.

"Did you know my father was an apostate? My sister is too," she said. "We grew up in Ferelden, my father having escaped the Circle in Kirkwall. It's why I trained to fight, rather than learned to sew, or cook, like all the other little girls," she explained with a meek smile. "We needed to know how to protect ourselves, my siblings and I, lest the Templars found us."

Mrs. Hutchinson slowly put her tea down, her eyes remaining on the cup. "That must have been rather _adventurous_."

"I suppose it was," Lorelai agreed. "It was scary too, though. I'm grateful for my family but it was hard, when I was little, to learn to be wary of everyone. It's hard to have fun, to just be a child, when you're always having to watch out for… trouble."

"I expect that's true," the elderly woman answered, meeting Lorelai's gaze.

Lorelai searched Mrs. Hutchinson's eyes. "One might even call it a burden," she continued quietly. "Not just on the apostate, but on those who love him as well. It's a weighty thing, knowing a slip of your tongue could ruin lives, isn't it?"

Mrs. Hutchinson cleared her throat but didn't speak.

"Sebastian would like to form a Circle again, here in Starkhaven, but he's determined to create a place of education and respect. He wishes to follow the word of the Chant. He's written to the Divine in an effort to explain his plans. I tell you this in confidence, of course."

"Of course," whispered Mrs. Hutchinson.

"If she agrees with the parameters he's given her, then things will change here."

"And if she doesn't?"

Lorelai blinked. "Then Sebastian is prepared to form a Circle based on the Chant but independent of the Chantry."

Mrs. Hutchinson nodded. "Good for Sebastian. He's brave tae realize that Starkhaven has needed its mages tae return for far too long, and tae do somethin' about it, regardless o' the Chantry's stand on the matter. Now, is there a reason you're sharin' this confidence with me?"

"Yes. I believe you know the kind man who saved Marie's life," Lorelai said quietly. "I won't ask you who he is. I would never ask you to betray a confidence, especially one so important. If you have the means by which to share this information with him and if you're willing to do so, I'd be grateful."

Mrs. Hutchinson studied Lorelai intensely for a moment and then sighed, closing her eyes. "_If_ I was able tae do so, which I'm no' sayin' I _am_, why would ye need me tae tell him anything? What's this tae do with him?"

"While things are developing, Sebastian and I would like to create a position within the Court for a healer. After what Marie endured, he believes he must broaden his idea of what safeguarding the people of Starkhaven truly means," she explained. "Of course, I'd be lying if I said he didn't have his own personal motivations as well," she finished, placing her hand on her large belly. "He's afraid, Mrs. Hutchinson."

The housekeeper frowned. "I love that boy, and I dinnae like tae hear he's no' happy, but…" she paused, her shoulders drooping slightly. "Maker, he's got in his head that Fletcher fits the bill? Oh, Lorelai, ye cannae truly be askin' this of me."

Lorelai shifted on the bench, placing her tea cup and saucer next to her. "I've been privileged to know a few healers in my time. It's a remarkable skill, a passion even," she began. "The work of helping others is difficult, it can even be heartbreaking at times, but not one of them would rather do anything else. I saw that in Fletcher, when he came. He entered the room and took command; he knew exactly what had to be done."

"He's a good lad," Mrs. Hutchinson said quietly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I believe he must be. After all, he came to the home of a man who, for all he knew, would have handed him over to the Chantry. Yet he still helped, ignoring the very real risk to his freedom. He's a _healer_. I suspect it's something he loves, something that makes him very happy."

The elderly housekeeper nodded. "I still haven't heard what it is that I should tell him, _assumin'_ I even could do so."

"Well, if you _were_ able to speak with him, then we would hope you'll share with him that an opportunity to help others has presented itself, and that those who present it have no intention of asking him to surrender his freedom."

"Ye said that Sebastian wishes tae form a Circle here," Mrs. Hutchinson argued. "How would that no' be askin' Fletcher tae give up his freedom?"

"When a decision of how and when a Circle will be established is reached, Fletcher will have the choice to stay or go before it's formed. He would be allowed to simply… disappear, should he wish to do so. In the meantime, should he accept this opportunity, he will enjoy the full protection Sebastian can offer."

Mrs. Hutchinson frowned again, her gaze steady on Lorelai. "Maker, if it were anyone else askin' me, I'd lie and say I dinnae know where he is," she breathed, shaking her head. "If Fletcher has any interest in what ye and Sebastian are proposin', then what do I tell him tae do?"

"I'll take care of that," Lorelai replied quickly. "I've left the name of Samuel Kotter with Sebastian's secretary and all Fletcher needs to do is present himself at the palace under that name. He'll be admitted and will be able to speak with Sebastian privately."

"Mercy, I haven't even been willin' tae tell Cam and Marie where tae find him and…" the housekeeper paused, placing her cup onto its saucer. "I need a promise from ye both."

Lorelai stood and nodded. "Yes, anything."

"I will pass your invitation on, but only on the condition that ye dinnae ask me about Fletcher again. I've made a promise tae someone who trusted me tae keep it," Mrs. Hutchinson said softly. "She's gone now, but I dinnae know that she'd accept me doin' this, even if I could explain it tae her."

"I promise, Mrs. Hutchinson," Lorelai agreed solemnly. "I do know what we're asking of you and I'm grateful."

The kind housekeeper smiled sadly. "I believe ye likely do, my dear, else I wouldn't even be entertainin' the idea of lettin' him know."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered and then forced a cheerful countenance. "Now, I've a roast tae finish, among other delicious treats," she explained, stooping to pick up the tea tray. "I hope that ye fill ye plate tonight, I've made a few dishes from Ferelden, just for you."

Lorelai grinned. "Oh, Mrs. Hutchinson, that is beyond kind of you!" she exclaimed. She patted her large bump. "We thank you, truly."

She clucked her tongue. "Och, now, we cannae have that sweet bairn in your belly left hungry for a proper meal," she reasoned with a wink. "Besides, that auld fool of a cook at the palace is a wretched man and barely knows his salt from his sugar! I remember how touchy my stomach could be when I was carryin' my girl, it's the least I can do."

"Well, you're wonderful for thinking of me," Lorelai gushed, truly excited to see what dishes Mrs. Hutchinson had prepared. "And I didn't know you had a daughter. Does she live in Starkhaven?"

The housekeeper shook her head sadly. "Not any more. She passed on a long time ago, tryin' tae deliver her bairn. I lost them both."

Lorelai's smile fell. "I'm so sorry."

"Aye, thank ye. I miss her still, though I've kept my arms full with these sweet ones Cam and Marie have filled this house with. They're a balm tae my broken heart," she explained with a sigh. "Enough of that now, let's return tae the kitchen! It's time tae eat and I cannae wait for ye tae try my pudding. I know you'll be smilin' by meal's end!"

Lorelai matched Mrs. Hutchinson upbeat tone. "I can't wait."

**xXx**

Anders sat in the garden adjacent to his library and quietly read through a packet of letters and reports from his aide as the sunshine began to wane. Isabella had proven to be a reliable solicitor and he now received regular reports on Lorelai's life in Starkhaven.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

Their baby would be due soon, Lorelai had only a little over eight weeks left to go. He smiled softly, his mind seeing her swollen with their creation, a smile playing on her lips as she moved toward him. Her breasts were fuller, her skin bright with good health and her hair shone in the imagined sun.

He lowered his head and felt a lump in his throat. "Damn," he whispered, his emotions rioting inside him.

The reports had served several purposes. He'd needed to know Sebastian's plans, he'd needed to understand the level of power and influence the prince had in his homeland. He'd needed to familiarize himself with how the prince and princess lived before he could decide how and when to recover his child.

It had proven very helpful, he now felt he better understood the tone and mood of the Court at Starkhaven. Furthermore, he could imagine her routine, for he now knew what she wore, what she ate, who she'd become close to and who she'd avoided.

His eyes wandered to the latest missive from Starkhaven, to the informant's notes, remarkably detailed, as Anders had required. Every moment, unguarded or not, was reported to him and this knowledge had created an unexpected and significant side effect.

Lorelai was… _Lorelai_.

She was real to him again, the idea of her no longer buried under the onslaught of his confusion and fury. The news of her day-to-day life was slowly destroying the twisted memory his anger had wrought of her. She'd been busy helping people, seeing to their needs, improving the schools of the poorest of children in the city-state and making friends amongst the common people.

Despite everything that she'd done – everything _he'd_ done – she was still trying to make things better for others. She'd always been relentless in her need to ease the troubles of others, even to her own detriment. It had been one of the most compelling things about her, one of the reasons he'd fallen for her.

She and Sebastian shared a bedroom; he knew that she'd not occupied the rooms set aside for the princess. His mind still tortured him with that fact, he still felt his stomach roll at the idea of Sebastian touching her, of her love being given freely to anyone other than him, but there was more to it.

She was clearly happy, and somehow, despite his white-hot jealousy and anger, that mattered.

He wanted to hate her for marrying Sebastian, to blame her for her flight from Kirkwall, but the arguments he'd created against her were losing their potency. Reflecting on the last several months, he could no longer deny that he'd lost sight of what little of himself he'd rediscovered since Justice had left him.

With a heavy sigh, he stood and walked the garden.

Regardless of Lorelai's contentment, he couldn't – he_ wouldn't_ – allow an Andrastrian to raise his child, a child who would most certainly be a mage. Accepting that Lorelai may have had no choice but to flee Kirkwall for Starkhaven was one thing, but there was little doubt in his mind that the pious prince would insist that _his_ child be placed within a Circle.

No, his goal of getting his child out away from Sebastian would not change. It would never be handed over to the Templars, to the Chantry.

He'd sooner die first.

"Ser?" said a female voice from behind him, and breaking free of his thoughts, he turned to answer, seeing the servant Nari standing at a respectful distance.

"Yes, Nari? Did you need me?" he asked, trying to keep his tone from betraying his troublesome mood. He'd been working hard over the last several weeks to ensure that his 'staff' knew he would be a good and gentle master and he'd noticed they were gradually becoming less frightened of him.

She nodded. "Yes, ser. There's a letter for you, ser. Brought by a boy from House Silvasti," she explained, holding the envelope out to him. "He's been asked to await your reply."

"Bring it here, please."

She approached him and offered him the letter, backing away several feet once he'd taken it. He opened it and scanned the contents, a single blond eyebrow arching as he did.

"Please, Nari, go and see if Isabella is still about and if she is, tell her to come and speak with me. Thank you."

"Yes, ser, right away," she replied and darted off.

Several minutes later Isabella stepped into the garden. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes," he replied, holding out the letter brought by the runner. "Tell me what you know of this magister and what you make of this note."

Isabella took it and read it, frowning slightly as she did. "Interesting," she whispered before looking up again. "This is good. Magister Silvasti is a powerful man, he's done very well for himself and holds a good deal of influence with the Senate. That being said, because of his power, there're many who would happily see him displaced from it."

"Alright," he replied. "So what does he want with me?"

She shrugged. "It could be for any number of reasons."

"Well then, what do you think? Should I accept his invitation to this dinner he's hosting?"

"Absolutely," she nodded. "This kind of social gathering is a good way for you to learn who's who without the pressure of it being too intimate a setting. Besides, as I said, Silvasti is an important man. It wouldn't do to decline his invitation and risk offending him, especially as we can't know for certain why he's decided to include you in the first place."

"Then I'll go," he agreed. "Listen, I've never been very good at this sort of thing. I'm likely to mix up the proper spoons or something equally mundane and I'm not sure what one wears to a Magister's dinner."

Isabella smiled slightly. "Tell you what, I'll send a few formal robes over from a couple of tailors for you to choose from and, in the meantime, you should ask Barlow to review dining etiquette with you," she suggested, referring to the chamberlain who managed his wait staff. "If there's anyone who could help you learn what's what, it'll be him. Plus, he may well be able to give you some insight into what to expect at these kind of dinners."

"Thank you, Isabella, that's an excellent idea."

"Of course," she replied. "If there's nothing further, ser, I was just heading home for the evening when Nari caught me."

"No, that should do. Good night, I'll see you tomorrow."

She nodded and turned to go, and had almost left the garden when she paused and looked back at him. "Ser, may I say something?"

He met her gaze. "Yes."

"Your efforts with the slaves, they're paying off. I was wrong to advise you to remain harsh with them."

Anders was surprised at her compliment and confession. "Thank you. I… thank you. I think I'm beginning to feel a bit more comfortable here myself. Maybe time really does heal all wounds."

Her eyes darted to the missives from Starkhaven but immediately returned to his. "Perhaps it will, ser. Good evening."

"Yes. Good night."

**xXx**

Elena sat quietly by the fire pit off of the garden, a large cauldron placed over it. Olivia was making soap and the tallow had to be kept nice and hot so it didn't solidify before she'd added the lye and other horrible ingredients needed. She crinkled her nose just thinking of it.

"Yuck," Elena groaned, glancing down at the vile concoction.

Sighing, she reached for her poker, stoking the coals. Summer was nearly over, the sun was setting earlier these days and what had lingered in the back of her mind was now at the forefront of it.

Fenris would be leaving soon.

He'd not said so, at least not directly, but he'd been training in the yard each day since he'd helped her release the slaves and his strength had fully returned. Glancing down at her hands, she saw that the slashes from the poor deluded slave who'd tried to kill her were nearly healed.

Yes, time had moved so quickly.

She'd expected Fenris to have left already; he'd been so certain in his pursuit of the mage Anders, but ever since the night she'd been hurt, he'd said less and less on the subject. She knew, however, that he'd not given up the idea.

In the time since the raid, they'd spent nearly each day together, and he'd pushed himself to recover as well as demanding that she learn several new self-defense tactics. They'd trained together, worked together and after the day was done, spent the evenings swapping tales with Olivia and Keegan. Some nights they'd walk the orchard alone, lost in conversation, her hand sometimes held by his.

She hated the idea of him chasing Anders. She'd never liked it, but now that she knew Fenris – now that she'd grown to care a great deal about him, perhaps even love him – she'd grown quite visceral on the matter.

She sighed again, shaking her head. "Perhaps that's why he won't talk with me about it," she muttered to herself, regret tugging at her heart.

"Is speaking to yourself yet another new talent you've chosen to aquire?" asked a voice from the edge of the firelight. Fenris stepped into full view, a soft smile on his lips. "If so, I should not like to interrupt."

She grinned, blushing as his arrival scattered her sad ponderings. "Ah, no," she replied slowly. "Although I expect it has merit in the 'destroy boredom' department, don't you think?"

"Only if what you're discussing with yourself is interesting. Is it?"

"Is what?"

His smile broadened and he came to stand next to her. "What you're discussing with yourself?"

"Oh," she replied, glancing away from his intense green eyes. "No, not really. I'm just… I suppose I'm having a firm word with myself, that's all."

He studied her quietly. "May I ask what about?"

She shifted her weight uneasily and jabbed at the coals, not answering him.

"Elena, are you well? If there is something troubling you, I wish to help."

"Even if _you're_ the trouble?" she asked cheekily and then groaned, knowing he'd be unsettled by her flippant words. "I'm sorry, Fenris, I didn't mean to – "

"Have I offended you in some way?" he asked stiffly, stepping back from her. "I was not aware – "

"No! I… I didn't mean to blurt that out, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to say, not at all."

He nodded, arching a black eyebrow. "Do you wish me to go?"

"No!"

He turned to leave.

"I said no! That's exactly what I _don't_ wish!" she exclaimed. "Bollocks, you really don't get it!" she declared and then tossed the poker down, stalking away from him and leaving the garden. She strode through the yard and past the house, and he caught up with her just as she was entering the orchard. "Leave off, Fenris, please? I'm not making any bloody sense!"

He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her to a stop. "Elena. Why are you so distressed? What have I done?"

She gazed up at him and nervously bit her lip, her thoughts racing through her mind. "Nothing," she whispered. "I'm just… I'm _acutely_ aware that you'll be leaving soon and I… oh, bloody hell, we shouldn't even be talking about this! You've no reason to stay!"

"I'm leaving? Where am I going?"

"Don't do that, Fenris, don't. You _know_ you've been eager to leave since the night you arrived! And now you're healthy and able, so you'll go on, won't you, no matter that I want you to stay! You'll keep chasing after that bastard and you'll be… well, you won't be here, will you?"

He grew still, his eyes searching hers. "And this upsets you? My pursuit of the abomination?"

She gaped at him and shook her head, turning on her heel and marching further into the orchard.

"Elena!" he bellowed, following closely.

She stopped suddenly and spun around on her heel. "I just said that, didn't I? Didn't I just say to you that I don't want you to leave?"

"You've said a great deal in a very short time and at a loud volume," he replied calmly. "I am only trying to understand," he said gently, standing close as he watched her. "Help me."

Her heart thumped inside her chest as her eyes moved to his lips before they slid shut. "I want you to stay, Fenris. I want you here. I don't want you to leave."

He leaned close and her eyes opened, meeting his. He hesitantly touched her arm, his hand lingering at her elbow. "Why not?"

"Fenris!"

"Why not, Elena?"

She swallowed, her mind searching for what she needed to confess. "Because I care about you, because things feel right when you're with me, when you're here," she snapped, searching his eyes as her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you… could you…" she paused, shaking her head.

His brow furrowed and he ran his fingers up her arm. "I do not wish to leave. I find I am drawn to remain. I am drawn to _you_," he confessed quietly. "But I have a friend in need, Elena. I cannot leave that need unmet."

She smiled sadly. "I know," she breathed. "That's why I know you'll go."

"Would you allow me to return? If I go?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Would you still wish for me to come back?"

She touched her fingers to his chest, gazing up at him. "They may not allow you to," she replied, splaying her other hand against his trim belly. "It's _Tevinter_, for Maker's sake, Fenris," she rasped, resting her forehead against his collarbone. "You're in such real danger there."

His nostrils flared as a torrent of emotions took hold of his heart and he wrapped his arms around her. "They will _not_ keep me, Elena. I am no slave."

He felt her shudder as she raised her chin. "No, you're not."

His green eyes searched her face and he reverently raised his hand to touch her cheek, a lyrium tattooed finger grazing her jaw until it stopped at her chin. Her lips parted slightly as he considered her words.

"Stay, Fenris," she breathed.

He kissed her softly, his lips barely touching hers as his eyes slid shut and he felt her melt against him.

Tenderly he placed feathered kisses on her face, the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair making him almost drunk with want. She tried to kiss him back, her hands caressing his face, pulling him closer until he finally gave in and took her mouth with his own.

He felt a shift inside himself, a primal urge to taste her, to keep her as close as he could, and he pushed her backward until she was pressed against a tree and his hands were fisted in her long hair, crushing her against him.

They drowned in one another then, each so lost in their heady need that nothing outside of his taste and her moans mattered. She pulled him down into the thick grass and he settled on top of her, their hands roaming as they kissed, caressed, consumed.

His heart and body knew what he wanted but his honor cried foul and his head snapped up, breaking their kiss. "Elena," he panted. "Will you let me return to you?"

"Fenris," she whimpered, trying to pull him back to her.

"Tell me, tell me that you'll have me return," he demanded, his eyes intense. "We cannot do this, not yet. I will not lay with you and then leave you to hunt Anders, Elena. I cannot."

Her face changed as his words penetrated and she turned away from him, but he cupped her chin and returned her eyes to his. "Elena," he whispered, his tone one of agony. "Tell me. Tell me and I will _not_ be kept from you. _I will return_."

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she nodded. "Come back to me, Fenris."

He kissed her eyes, tasting the salt of her tears before he cradled her to him. "I will."

_**Thank you, Lisa for the beta and for helping me sort out this story!**_

_**It's great to be back to these characters, I've missed them a great deal. Thanks for your patience, everyone. I had too many stories active at once and felt strongly that Aftermath wasn't getting out of me what it deserved, so I made it my goal to close out the other writings before I proceeded with this one. I've finished the other stories, save my Kaidan/FemShep Mass Effect romance, so Aftermath's updates will now resume.**_

_**Thank you for reading, reviewing and alerting! **_


	34. Finally! An Update!

**Yeah, I know. So not even going to try excusing being gone from this for... well, who knows how long. Sorry about that! **

**Thanks to the fabulous Lisa for the super-quick beta and for the good, swift, kick up my butt that motivated this update and the next chapter that's already half finished and should be out in the next week or two (I pinky swear)**

**So now... here we go! Let's go see what Lorelai Hawke and Sebastian Vael have been up to!**

**Finally! An Update!**

Varric's eyes followed the long line of templars as they marched through the market of Lowtown and sighed heavily. He felt a tiredness unlike any he'd felt before, the kind that settled into a man's bones and aged him.

Thank the Maker it was almost closing time in the markets.

Standing near an alcove outside Lirene's, he watched the men walk past, considering again the latest rumors he'd heard from his sources. It seemed the seeker, Cassandra, and her partner, Leliana, were no longer making inquiries around the city, leading one to presume that perhaps their investigation into the death of Elthina was finally over.

What that meant, however, remained to be seen.

He hated not knowing what was coming, hated that there was nothing more than the pit of unease, his gnawing sense of dread that something was coming their way – something that would make the last few years look easy – to guide him and his friends.

Nothing was out there except for rumors, and normally, that was all he needed. _Normally_ he could construct a concept of what was really happening in a situation, he could piece together enough clues from the bits brought to him to see the bigger picture, to see what he needed to do next.

Not this time, though.

No one, _nowhere_, was really talking to him or his informants, no matter what he offered, bribed or even threatened. Regardless of the favors he called in, nobody was coughing up any solid information on anything related to the templars and their intentions. Everybody had the same story, the same vague kinds of rumors to repeat. It was enough to make him want to pull his beard out – if he _had_ one, that was.

_I might finally have found a reason to grow one, _he thought sourly as the last of the templars left the market. He moved up the steps towards the Hanged Man and paused, spying Leliana lingering near the entrance of the pub.

"Huh," he muttered softly, debating whether her presence was a good thing or not. On one hand, speaking with the woman only meant he was likely to end up yakking away for hours, wasting his valuable time. Yet on the other, any chance he had to learn what the Chantry was up to was probably one he should take. With a frown, he made his decision.

Sometimes, you had to get your hands a little dirty.

"My dear lady, what a pleasure to see you again! And in my neck of the woods, too!" he began, his voice carrying across the last dozen or so feet separating them. "How is it that you can wear such clunky armor and still be so… ravishing?"

The red-headed bard arched an eyebrow. "My, my, Varric, such lovely things you say," she replied, her tone honey-sweet and insincere. "Dare I hope that you have missed me? Then you are in luck, for I was hoping for a moment of your very valuable time."

He grinned, feigning surprise. "Is it me you're here to see? Well then, my day is made all the brighter with your unexpected company." Their gazes locked for a quiet moment, each absolutely aware of the other's insincere words and each resolute to play along. "Care to step inside the best hovel Lowtown has to offer? I've got a nice quiet spot where we can chat."

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "I would be honored."

Stepping forward, he grabbed the heavy handle of the front door to the Hanged Man.

"After you, my dear lady. After you."

**xXx**

"And, why, may I ask, are you sharing this little news nugget with little ol' me?" Varric asked Leliana nearly an hour later, each settled nicely into his private office. What she'd just shared had his heart thudding inside his stunningly hairy chest. "I thought for sure you and your friends at the Chantry didn't want me to know what was going on."

"They don't," Leliana replied, sitting forward, bracing her elbows on the rough table. "Varric, may I cut to the chase with you?" she asked softly. "A moment of sincerity between us would be unheard of, I know, but I'm afraid that it is necessary. Forgive me?"

"By all means."

"I share this 'news nugget', as you call it, because you, above all of your companions, understand the power of information. You also understand the value of controlling – how shall I say – the perception of it."

"I suppose I do," he said evenly, keeping his emotions well hidden. "So that's it, then? It's over? The templars and the servants of the Divine are packing up and heading home?"

"Not entirely. There will be templars assigned to protect the various chantries set up in Kirkwall and the outlying areas," she explained. "They will perform their duties to the fullest extent, of course, but as there is no Circle here, their numbers will be vastly reduced."

"And Lorelai?"

"As I said, neither Cassandra nor I believe that she had a direct hand in what transpired that fateful day, Varric. We could grow lost in the semantics of it all, the Champion's apparent inability to see _any_ of the misguided actions of her lover before he murdered most of Hightown, yet ultimately, it is obvious she had no part in it. Our recommendation is to leave the princess alone in her new life, a recommendation I feel confident the Divine will take."

"Why?"

"Why am I confident the Divine will heed our opinion?"

The dwarf tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "No. I get that part, you two are her eyes and ears, she trusts you and she's got no real choice but to take your word for it. Not to mention that Lorelai's slowly becoming popular in Starkhaven. She's not the crowd favorite there yet, but we both know she will be soon enough."

"You understand the power of people's perception of a situation," the red-headed bard said quietly. "The Chantry has come to realize that Lorelai Hawke was a victim as surely as the rest of us were. Perhaps more so, having been so thoroughly duped by someone she loved," she continued before her voice dropped to a near whisper. "That kind of pain is one I… well, I for one would not wish to see the Champion's burden added to by more falsehoods."

He studied her for a moment, seeing something familiar in her eyes. It was the same wounded look he'd seen in Lorelai's right after Anders had leveled of the chantry.

"Which brings me to why _I_ am here. For, as you pointed out, the Chantry does not wish outsiders to know what our next actions will be, yet this is something my conscience wouldn't let me leave unaddressed."

"So you're not here to tell me that Lorelai's in the clear? What could possibly be bigger news than that?"

Leliana smiled softly. "You're a good friend to her, Varric," she muttered. "No. That information isn't what brings me here. The contract on the Champion's life is what warrants our little rendezvous today," she finished as she stood. Opening a satchel, she pulled out a thick leather bound packet and placed it before Varric.

"What's this?" he asked as he fingered it, carefully opening the strings that held it together.

"That is every single piece of information we have on who is after the princess."

Varric's eyebrows shot up and he stared at the bard. "You're shitting me."

"No, I most definitely am not," she replied with a soft laugh. "No, I'm helping you, Varric, or her, rather. She didn't deserve what happened to her, none of you did. And regardless of how my counterpart may feel, the Champion does _not_ deserve what's coming next."

The dwarf's nostrils flared as that familiar sick feeling clenched at his belly. "And what _exactly_ is coming next?" he demanded, scanning each page of the packet rapidly. "My sources hit a wall with the contract."

"_Contracts_, Varric. Plural."

"Start talkin', Red. Right now."

Leliana nodded once. "You knew of one, and that contract, we have determined, was nullified when Aveline and her guard foiled the group of rogue templars. We've confirmed since their arrests that as it was they who'd funded the original contract and can no longer pay, the Coterie have ceased their efforts to fulfill it.

However, that leaves the _other_ contract, this one more recently taken and _not_ by the Coterie. Everything you need to know is in that packet, Varric, everything you need to stop it, to save her and to throw the culprit out of the shadows he hides in."

"Who is it?" he demanded, coming to his feet, his eyes fierce. "When? Where? Why the hell haven't _you_ stopped it?"

"You know what I am risking by giving this to you, do you not?" she rasped, jabbing her finger against the leather of the packet. "I'm giving you everything you need! If the Chantry finds out I am giving you their information I will lose a great deal, Dwarf, so do not make demands of me. If it weren't for me, it is likely you would never have known until it was too late."

"Fine, I get that and I'm grateful, alright? I didn't hear it from you and when I'm done with this," he slapped his hand against the papers, "I'll burn the whole damned pile but for Maker's sake give me the name!"

She locked her eyes with his before she finally looked away, drawing a long breath. "MacLeod. That's where you should start."

"MacLeod?" he stammered, his mind racing as he rifled through the paper. "But that's… wait… are you telling me this contract originated in _Starkhaven_? The threat is in Starkhaven?"

"Be well, Varric Tethras," Leliana said as she stepped away from the table. "If anyone asks, I shall say this meeting never occurred. Maker guide you in all of your endeavors, especially those close to your heart. I expect we will not see each other again."

Varric looked up, shaking his head, more questions ready on his lips but the red-headed beauty was gone.

"Walter!" he bellowed, causing the young man to come scrambling into the room. "Get Aveline and tell her I said to get here now!"

"Tell the captain of the guard _now_? But sir, she won't – "

"Tell her I said drop whatever she's doing and get here fast. Nothing comes before this. Now go, Walter! Run!" Varric ordered as he opened the key to saving Hawke.

**xXx**

Fletcher moved quietly outside the north gate to the palace, pacing as he silently argued with himself. To enter or not to enter, that was the question.

Saving Lady Tisdale from an untimely and unfortunate death during childbirth was not something he would ever regret. He knew what Marie meant to his aunt and knew he'd done the right thing, but now, standing here outside the palace, his stomach churned with anxiety.

The very thought of revealing himself was mad, he'd readily told his aunt just that. It would be lunacy to willingly walk into a place surrounded by guards, to acknowledge his abilities, his illegal status, to the highest power in the land.

Yet the offer made to him by the prince and princess astounded him, which was why he was now pacing outside of the gates.

When he'd scoffed at the Vaels' offer, Aunt Bailey had clucked her tongue. Shaking her head, she'd gently reminded Fletcher that she'd practically raised the prince, a better man than most. He was kind, humble and would keep to his word, she'd argued. He'd married the daughter of an apostate, hadn't he? Hadn't the prince fallen in love with a good girl whose own family had hidden themselves away from the Circle? And wasn't it she who'd carried the proposal of her husband?

Surely that could only mean that the prince understood what he was asking of Fletcher, couldn't it?

He'd been silent as he'd listened as his beloved aunt continued to argue in favor of Fletcher at least meeting with Prince Vael, using her long-winded reasoning to give him the time he'd needed to consider the prince's offer.

She'd explained once more what the princess had shared, of the grand plans of a Circle forming again in Starkhaven. It was honorable, she'd insisted, returning to the ways of Andraste, didn't he think? Surely a place where mages would again be appreciated for their talents, a home for those where the Harrowing would be respected and templars and mages could work together as they once had…

"Doesnae every mage deserve a chance tae learn who they could truly be, wha' they could do, if they were no' afraid o' the Circle, lad?" she'd asked him. "An' if they learned, if they could understand more o' themselves, dinnae ye think they'd be more ready tae tell them demons prowlin' about them tae leave off?"

That argument had been what would captivate Fletcher's mind. The idea that there could somehow be a place where mages would teach, where their gifts would be honed and refined and the templars there would be in place not to subdue them, but to safeguard them suddenly took root in his heart.

_What if such a place could exist?_ he'd asked himself as his aunt had continued on. What if…

And if that hadn't been enough to hold his thoughts, Aunt Bailey had offered her last bit of news. If Fletcher did not wish to join the newly formed Circle, then he would not be forced to do so.

He would remain free.

He'd been unable to refute his aunt's logic after that and now, as the day was nearing its end, he again considered what was beyond the gate.

Staring through the elaborate arched entry, he took in the beauty of the palace, its graceful architecture, and the lush grounds surrounding it. He imagined what the interior must look like, imagined the servants and the resources, the libraries, the chance to mingle with such people, to learn more of the world.

He'd dreamed of such things during his years of training in Ferelden. Mastering the art of healing had been his passion but the crumbling Circle and the Blight had nearly wiped clean his hopes of doing so. To work in such a place, to be free to heal, to help his fellow mages… it was an achingly sweet temptation.

Dare he submit to it?

What if it was folly? What if this was simply an elaborate ruse to draw him out? He'd performed magic in front of dozens of people, important people. He snorted. No, not just important people, he silently scoffed, he'd performed magic in front of the bloody _Prince of Starkhaven_.

"A former lay brother of the Chantry for Maker's sake!" he hissed under his breath.

Perhaps his saving of the young lady would be his undoing? Perhaps his act of mercy would bring the roof down upon his head? He replayed the night in his mind, pausing as he recalled that it had been the princess who'd offered him a vial of lyrium, it had been she who'd been concerned for his exertion.

There were rumors about the princess.

Some were mundane, some were outrageous and others were outright vile, but in each he'd heard, the princess had always been connected to mages. The man who'd murdered the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall was said to have been her lover, and not for just a tryst, but over a period of years. His aunt had said the princess was the daughter of an apostate, her sister had been in the Gallows and everyone in Thedas knew it had been the mages the princess had defended during the Battle of Kirkwall.

Drawing a long breath, he considered the princess's reaction to his efforts, her demeanor as well as that of the prince. They'd been calm as he'd cast, and the princess had worked at his side, seeming to understand his needs. The prince and princess were not people who seemed unfamiliar or uncomfortable with magic...

Stepping through the palace gates would change everything in his life and his heart thundered in his chest. The decision to even meet with the prince could bring about the demise of his freedom, of everything he'd struggled to gain after surviving the broken Circle and then the Blight in Ferelden.

Yet, what if it… _what if it didn't_?

What if the offer shared with his aunt was as sincere as she'd believed it to be? What if he missed one of the greatest opportunities of his life because he was too scared to walk through a gate?

He sighed, kicking his toe into the ground in frustration. Exactly when had he become such a coward?

"Maker's balls, man! Get on with it!" he muttered to himself, making his decision as he strode through the first gate and approached the palace.

**xXx**

Fenris crouched by his small camp fire, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He was surprised at how easily it had been to overdo things today, how something as simple as a day of walking had caused him to be nearly overwhelmed by exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, he gracelessly plopped to the ground and closed his eyes.

He'd travelled these woods several weeks earlier, prior to falling ill, so the area was somewhat familiar to him. When he'd set out that morning, his first day returning to his journey, he'd hoped to reach a sheltered bluff he'd discovered when he'd last passed through, but his slowed pace had forced him to alter his plans. As the afternoon had waned, he'd decided it would be best to set camp early.

It was simply too tiring to consider anything else.

With a chuckle, he imagined Elena's reaction to his weariness. Seeing him as fatigued as this, she would have gently poked fun, bringing a smile to his lips, all while prodding him into resting.

The discovery of Elena had been a revelation to him, one he knew he would likely always be in awe of. She was vibrant, smart, and unrestrained in her feelings. Far from naïve, she fiercely struggled against the might of Tevinter, refusing to be moved from the hope that she would stop the horrors there from consuming another innocent.

It had taken him off guard, how aware he'd been of her, and her ability to distract him so wholly had initially not been a welcomed sensation. It hadn't helped his unease that almost immediately after meeting her, he'd grown desperately sick, and for a time, completely unable to care for himself.

He'd been at her mercy, helpless and feeble.

His former life was one lived under the control of others, something he'd nearly lost his life escaping from, and the susceptibility he'd felt when he'd been so weak had stirred some of his darkest memories. Once he'd awakened, he'd struggled with his wounded pride, and his frail health was an infuriating hindrance. It mattered little to his more basic instincts that Elena had done nothing but offer him help and kindness; he'd found his near-frantic need to escape from his bed-ridden confinement overwhelming.

Somehow, though, she had sensed his anxieties and without drawing attention to them, had ensured that he was kept as distracted as possible. She'd told him stories, shared jokes and read to him. They'd spent several hours in quiet conversation, something he'd never before found relaxation in, but with her he had.

His awareness of her soon grew more familiar, comfortable even, and he'd begun to realize she was more than a simple source of fascination to him. It was then, though, that he'd decided he could not allow his feelings for her alter his destiny. He'd vowed to stop the abomination, once and for all. He would not be swayed by his heart, which leapt in his chest at her laugh. He would not bend to temptation.

A wise man – a _free _man – understood his decisions were made with his head, not his heart.

Yet, in their short time together, he'd come to realize that she, perhaps more than anyone, understood his need to separate his feelings from his reason. Her life in Tevinter had shaped and formed her just as his had him. She wanted nothing from him, save his companionship, and had never asked for more of him than he was willing to give.

This, he learned, freed him from his darker worries, and her openness of heart slowly liberated him from his own hesitations. He'd discovered a new sense of himself and he'd not been able to deny that his lengthy recovery had more to do with his desire to be near her than with his poor health.

And then, to his humble surprise, she'd fairly burst with her confession of her feelings for him. Her loving words had tumbled from her beautiful lips, and he'd been unable to restrain himself, admitting his own for her. His heart had never felt so full.

Leaving her had been far from desirable, but she'd understood that his duty to Hawke was not yet complete. He'd asked for her aid in planning his trip into Tevinter, and despite her significant reservations, she'd not attempted to alter his course.

This had not, however, dissuaded Olivia, Elena's elven friend, from making her own attempt.

Olivia had been unabashed in her demands that Fenris discover more recent information on the whereabouts of the abomination he pursued. Seeing the logic of the older woman's reasoning, he'd agreed to retrace his steps, and would return to the small town where he could speak with Captain Foster.

Which was how he came to be camping alone in these woods.

He growled as he thought of his last time in the village, his anger flaring inside him as he remembered how very close he'd come to completing his mission. Glancing down at his hands, he could still feel Anders's skin against his fingertips.

"So close," he muttered, drawing one hand closed into a tight fist. Despite his being nearly recovered, it felt weak and his lip curled in disgust. "Vashedan."

The demise of his hated enemy had been mere moments away when the idiotic templars had mistakenly stopped Fenris. Just a few more seconds and Anders's heart would have been clenched tightly in Fenris's grip. Had the templars not interfered, Anders would have died that day.

And now the twisted mage was tucked away inside Tevinter.

What Anders did not realize was that his flight was only a reprieve from his fate. Fenris's face would be the last thing Anders would ever see, and hiding within the robes of the magisters only postponed the inevitable. The abomination would die and Hawke would finally be safe. Tevinter and its terrors held no power over Fenris any longer.

The fears of the once broken man who'd fled his master were now nothing more than silent ghosts of a life he had defied and ended. It had taken Fenris years to learn who he was inside, to see himself without the fiendish taint of Danarius's abuse, but he knew now that he, Fenris, was a man of his own making.

A man who had chosen his life, a man who had chosen his friends and a man who had now chosen his future.

_There is more to me than struggle_, he thought as he reached out and picked up a thick stick, poking the now roaring fire. He had earned this chance at happiness, he had earned the life he now hoped to lead. Elena was waiting for him. Once his task was complete, he would return to Kirkwall one final time.

He wished to say his goodbyes.

He knew his friends would be pleased for him. He liked to believe they would approve of Elena, and he needed them to know he would be happy. And he wished to share this news in person, for once he returned to Elena, he would not willingly leave her again.

Taking up the pack that he'd laid on the ground near him, he tugged his bedroll free, moving slowly as he set up his bed and removed a small ration of the food Olivia had given him. Lying back against the dried leaves of the trees, he watched the canopy of their lush branches swaying gently in the breeze.

Thinking of Elena, he set aside his uneaten food and drifted off to sleep.

**xXx**

Sebastian's eyes opened slowly, his senses acutely aware of his wife's hands wandering his body. The light of the new day was penetrating the velvet curtains of the windows in their suite as he turned to caress Lorelai.

"You're finally awake," she purred in his ear as she kissed him. She moaned as his hands found her, and she eagerly followed his gentle maneuvering. He soon had her straddling him. "Took you long enough," she teased, sighing as he fondled her.

"I was havin' the most remarkable dream, Darlin'," he replied with a husky chuckle. "Maker have mercy, you're a beautiful sight."

"What were you dreaming of?"

He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed the tip of one of her nipples. "Makin' ye scream my name," he whispered before taking a nipple into his mouth.

"That's a very good dream," she rasped, biting her lip as pleasure jolted through her.

An hour later, she'd done just that, and lying limp in his arms, she slowly kissed his chin. "I love you."

"And I love ye," he answered before he began to untangle himself from the sheets.

"No," she whined, smiling up at him. "Come on, let's just stay here."

His lips tugged upward as he leaned in to kiss her again. "Lorelai, you are temptation itself."

She laughed. "Then yield."

He smiled, shaking his head. "I cannot do that, Darlin', I have an appointment with Goran's cabinet this morning. It's time I rid Starkhaven of several of its greedier 'advisors' and I plan to do so this morning. Cam was giddy with excitement about it yesterday, so it should prove a rather lively morning."

"I'll bet. Ah, well, I suppose removing leeches is important, too. Though you should know that as soon as I'm back home today, I plan on dragging you back into bed, even if people are still throwing their clootie."

"I'll keep my meeting short then, does that suit?"

Sitting up, she gracelessly scooted to the edge of their bed, her large belly making her breath come in huffs. "It does," she replied with a wink as he helped her to stand.

"Now, tell me, what do you have planned for yourself this morning? Are you still meeting with Goran?"

She nodded. "I am. We're returning to that first farm hold we'd toured together. The new schoolhouse is finished and they're going to begin instruction tomorrow. They've asked us to come and see things."

"That's wonderful, Darlin'. You've made a real difference already, ye see that, don't ye?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled. "Maybe. It's a start at least. Speaking of making a difference, you didn't say how your meeting with Fletcher went last evening. What did he think of your proposal to appoint him Court Healer?"

Sebastian tugged the bell cord near the bed and then began to pull on his breeches. "Mrs. Hutchinson did a fine job in relating to him what our plans were. I will tell you, Lorelai, I made it plain to him that I would intend for him to submit to joining the Circle here, once it's formed."

"Oh Seb, I wish you'd left that open for further discussion."

"Lorelai, I _know_ how you feel on the matter and I don't take your feelings lightly, you know that. I can sympathize with an apostate's reasoning, but I am duty bound as both an Andrastrian and as the Prince to ensure that Starkhaven adheres to the Maker's Word," he said. "Our meeting took place before you and I were in accord on this matter, yes, but once he'd arrived I was compelled to do as I felt was right. If it helps your irritation with the matter, Fletcher was very open to the idea of being our healer."

"Even though you basically made him promise to join a Circle?"

"Aye. He asked for a few days to think upon our offer," he replied evenly. "And ye needn't make my intention for Fletcher be a part of the Circle sound so nefarious. I was honest with the man, as my honor demanded. Besides, he hardly ran screaming from our meeting. He heard me out and we had a very good discussion. He's a smart man."

She sighed, nodding. "I didn't mean to imply you were being unfair, it's just I'd told Mrs. Hutchinson… well, I _had_ told her that Fletcher would have more time before he had to make that choice. And I _still_ think Fletcher should be allowed to decide what he wants once the Circle opens."

"He _is_ being allowed that decision, Darlin', he's just being asked to make that choice now."

"What's the difference? Why force him to choose now? You don't even know what the Divine's answer will be?"

"The difference, my love, is that I cannot be seen as anything less than completely committed to what the Chant advises. Otherwise, people will believe that forming a Circle here, regardless of the Divine's consent, is about power and our defiance of her. We can't afford such a perception, Lorelai, especially with our known connections to Anders."

"Anders's connection to me, you mean."

"No," he said firmly. "Connection to us. This Circle, if we're forced to form it, must stand apart from those that currently exist. It must be a place of unquestioning respect for both the Chant and the mages who will call it home. I will not be accused of picking and choosing what rules are to be followed."

He walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her shoulder. She leaned back, her skin warm against his.

"I realize you're right, Seb, I really do. But I'm the daughter and the sister of apostates, and the stories I've heard, the things I saw at the Gallows… it's hard for me to not feel like I need to protect those mages who are free."

"You are a woman who has endless compassion for others. It's why, despite trying so hard not to, I fell in love with you. You've always looked after the well-being of those around you. But just as that is who you are, holding to my principles, maintaining what is right and good in the things around me, is part of who I am. I will not mislead Fletcher, on this, I cannot compromise."

She turned around in his arms and he cupped her chin.

"I know," she whispered, her features troubled. "I just needed to try and – "

"To protect Fletcher? I understand that, but he didn't need protecting from me." He looked troubled. "Darlin', if you felt that way then perhaps our idea about a Circle here in Starkhaven was premature."

"No, no, it's not," she replied quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't… I hadn't intended to manipulate either of you, I only hoped to give Fletcher more time."

He sighed, nodding gently. "Do ye trust me to truly look after Fletcher's well-being? I need ye to believe that I do not mean any harm to any mage. Do you _know_ that it's my faith that will guide this endeavour of ours? That and your own experiences as well?"

Her eyes slipped closed. "I do. I know we can make this all work."

"_We will_. Do you understand why I could not let Fletcher make his decision after he'd joined the household?" he asked softly. "Everything we do sets the tone for what the Circle here will become. If I'd been veiled in our plan then I'd have ruined it before it'd even begun."

She met his eyes and nodded, looking thoughtful. "They'll all be watching. All of Thedas will be watching us."

"Aye, exactly so, and we _must_ be what we say we are, it's our only chance, Lorelai. We must prove to everyone that we offer both mages _and_ the Maker our respect," he continued, his thumb tracing her jawline. "Anything less and we fail."

Meeting his deep blue eyes with her green ones, she finally nodded. "You're right. And I suppose if we did pick and choose what aspects of Andraste's plan to adhere to, then we're really no better than someone like Meredith, are we? Regardless of our meaning, who's to say that's not what started this whole mess. One concession and after that, it's a slippery slope, isn't it?"

"Aye."

"And you're sure that Fletcher is going to consider taking the position? He did say he'd think about it?"

"He did. He promised to have an answer to me very soon. He had some solid ideas on his role, and if I had to guess, I'd say he'll be taking it."

She placed a hand on her belly, his hand coming to rest over top of hers as she nodded. "I hope so. If he does, he's a braver man than most."

At that moment, there was a gentle knock on their door and Sebastian called out his permission to enter. Lorelai's maid entered, a smile on her face and a tray in her hands.

"Good morning, Your Highnesses. I've brought up my lady's breakfast and your man is ready to dress you, ser."

Lorelai squeezed Sebastian's hand, whispering up to him, "I'm sorry. I do understand and I'm with you on this."

"I _love_ you, Lorelai. Please remember that and trust me," Sebastian replied softly as he dropped a kiss to her hair. Stepping back, he turned to address the maid. "Good morning! Yes, there's much to do, and we're eager to start our day," he called out as he left for his dressing room.

Patting her belly again, Lorelai forced a smile for her maid and settled at her desk to eat.


	35. The Other Shoe

_**Ha! See? Didn't make you wait… okay, a month, but that's still way shorter than a year! Better yet, there's another chapter ready and waiting in the wings! **_

_**Thank you, as always, to Lisa, my amazing beta and biggest champion of this story. She's got a few amazing stories of her own, check her out on FanFiction and Archive of our Own, where she's under the pen name of Lisakodysam.**_

_**Thank you for every alert, favorite, and review! Love those reviews, they keep me typing!**_

_**We're racing towards a huge story arc here, one that I'm desperate to beat Bioware to the punch on, because hey, who knows what Inquisition will throw our way? So hang on, kiddos, we've got a lot coming in the next few chapters…**_

**The Other Shoe**

Anders smiled slowly, shaking his head at the fantastically bold prints of the fabrics the tailor was presenting to him. Isabella, his solicitor, had proven invaluable again, having arranged for the tailor to visit Anders's estate first thing that morning. Time was of the essence as Anders would soon attend his first social event as a rising star within Tevinter's powerful hierarchy of magisters.

"I like these," he said, stroking one of the finer silks unrolled on the table in his dressing room. "And I prefer the brighter colors as well."

They'd spent the last hour going over Anders's likes and dislikes, and the mage was feeling excited about his new wardrobe. It had been years since he'd taken the time to enjoy fashion, something that had once been important to him, something else that had disappeared when he and Justice had joined.

"Very good, ser. With your coloring and build, you will carry these looks very nicely," the tailor complimented. "And the slimmer cut for all items, yes?"

"Yes. No long drape, I'm not some old man. I want these robes to be the very height of fashion."

"Very good. Shall I cut the rest of the order in the same way, ser?" queried the tailor as he rolled up the bolt of blue silk. "And your shirts?"

"Yes, everything must be latest looks. As for my shirts, white and cream linen with small stitching, I detest thick seams. They must be fitted and flattering without bunching at my waist or underarms."

"I understand from your Messere Monroe that you will need several sets of robes and capes, is that so?"

Anders nodded. "It is, but the most urgent need is for a formal set of robes. I'll be dining with Magister Silvasti tomorrow night and they must be ready by then."

"Of course," the other man replied with a bow. "I can deliver a set to you by mid-morning tomorrow, although there will be an added fee for the extra effort, you understand, I'm sure. Would you prefer the royal blue or the aubergine for tomorrow's selection?"

"The blue."

The tailor inclined his head slightly and finished gathering his fabrics. A small elven woman who served as the tailor's assistant rushed forward and collected them.

"You've excellent taste. We will ensure that your every wish is met, ser, and your robes for tomorrow evening will be impeccable. Raila," the tailor paused and gestured to the elf, "is my most trusted assistant, remarkably talented. If you would be willing, she will arrive with your robes in the morning and ensure that the fit is exactly as you desire. She will be capable of making any alterations you may require, although I am _certain_ none will be necessary."

"I hope not, I'm eager to make the right impression, as I'm sure you are. I would like to give you a good deal of business if you're as capable as I suspect. Your selection of fabrics impresses me, ser, and you seem to know what you're about," Anders complimented as he nodded. "Is Raila your apprentice?"

The tailor's smile slipped ever so slightly before it falsely brightened. "Ah, well, actually, yes, yes she is. She's got quite an eye for things, sees details in things so many others don't. I realize that her employment is considered unconventional, and I apologize if that offends, ser."

Anders shook his head, holding up a hand. "No, actually, it doesn't, not in the least. As we come to know each other, you'll likely learn I'm rather unconventional myself. Oh, and yes, to answer your earlier question, Raila's aid in fitting me tomorrow will be acceptable– _should_ it be needed, of course."

"You are a forward thinker in both fashion and life, I see," the tailor replied, his tone genuinely warm. "I confess that I look forward to creating this wardrobe for you. It's been some time since a client has looked beyond Tevinter's borders for guidance in their appearance. It's refreshing!"

Anders chuckled. "It's been a very long time since I've taken the time to appreciate the finer things. I used to be quite fashionable, once upon a time, but I forgot that part of myself for a while, I'm afraid. I am eager to see your creations."

The tailor bowed low, his apprentice following suit. "And I am eager to create them. Thank you, ser, for this fine opportunity. You shall not be disappointed."

"Thank you. Until tomorrow, good day."

"Good day," replied the tailor, and he and his apprentice hurried from the room.

Anders smiled as he considered the pleasant exchange and walked over to one of the many windows in his dressing room. The courtyard below was quiet, most of his staff working somewhere inside the large home. He'd had a view like this once: his small bedroom at Vigil's Keep had overlooked just such a courtyard as this.

Glancing over his shoulder, he considered again the planning of his new clothing, and for a moment, he remembered when a friend, long-time-gone, had given him a present. Elizabeth Cousland, the warden-commander of Ferelden, had gifted him with a simple gold earring.

Those years in Amaranthine had been some of the best – and worst – years of his life. He'd felt free for the first time since early childhood, accountable only to himself and to the warden-commander. He'd been like a giddy child at first, joyful the templars no longer shadowed his every move and he'd eagerly jumped into his new life with a flamboyant happiness.

He could still remember how weightless he'd felt with each new day, waking to the freedom that his new position and friendships had afforded him. Every experience, even things that should have seemed mundane, were somehow made better by the knowledge that he was finally free of the templars.

He'd dived into learning stronger spells, feeling an exuberance for his craft that he'd not felt in ages. With a grateful heart, he'd pushed his talents to an all new level, happy to be a part of the brave Order, proud to protect and care for the warriors who had saved all of Thedas from the Blight.

Eventually though, the excitement for his changed fate was extinguished. A furious battle for all of Amaranthine would ravage both the city and the Keep, a fight that would take the lives of many he'd come to call friend.

It was then that he'd seen he was not as free as he'd believed.

He'd struggled with an intense guilt after the battle, feeling that every lit pyre was a testament to his inabilities. If only he'd trained harder, if only he'd been able to cast more quickly, perhaps then he could have saved more lives. And that was when he'd seen the full truth of things, when he'd understood with real clarity that the blood on his hands was _not_ through his failings, but those of the Wardens.

_They_ were to blame.

After all, he'd had no choice but to fight, had he? No one had _asked_ him to become a Grey Warden. No, he'd been thrust into his the role, a sword practically at his throat. It was with this revelation that he'd finally seen the brutality and destruction the Wardens were capable of. The lives he'd taken in battle, the deaths of his friends, these things had been forced upon him. _Forced_.

He was a healer, not a warrior, and yet he'd been in the center of a battle, dozens meeting their ends all around him. And he'd grasped in that moment that _every_ time he'd raised his staff he'd done so because the Wardens had placed him in the situation. He'd never had a choice.

The Circle had controlled every aspect of his life so closely that he'd not seen the Grey Wardens had been no different. Were the Grey Wardens really any different than the templars? Lying awake, night after night, he'd reached an irrevocable realization.

He'd _never_ been freed, no, he'd only been given a longer chain.

They'd never been his friends, and they'd not saved his life from the templars because they cared for him, they'd done so with purpose. The Wardens had taken what they'd wanted – his _abilities_. He'd gone cold when that final piece of the puzzle had found its place and it was then he'd felt those curling flames of hate come alive inside his belly.

Things had changed very quickly after that, his entire purpose had been altered. He'd vowed to bring an end to the systemic enslavement of his brethren and he'd started searching for a way he could escape the Wardens.

When his genuine friend Justice, still living inside the decomposing body of long-dead Warden Kristoff, overheard and rallied Anders's cause during a heated debate with another Warden, Anders had believed a pathway to freedom and justice had finally shown itself…

"Damn," he muttered, shaking aside the dark feelings that were creeping up his spine. Pushing back from the window over the courtyard, he drew a slow breath and reminded himself that losing his focus to the past did nothing for what he now faced.

No, he reminded himself, tomorrow night he would be taking his first solid steps toward the future he had planned for not just himself, but his child. Now was not the time to lose his motivation, especially to the confusing and murky memories he had of the time he'd co-existed with Justice.

A knock sounded softly on the suite door and he called out his permission to enter. A small elven child, the daughter of his steward, entered the room and demurely spoke to him.

"If it suits you, Master, the dining hall has been prepared for you. Mistress Isabella and my father would be pleased to see you at your leisure."

He remembered that Isabella would be instructing him on what to expect at tomorrow night's dinner, including walking him through the order of the dinner service. "Thank you, I'll come immediately," he replied, making sure to keep his tone cheerful.

The child dipped a curtsey and darted from the room.

He considered the little girl for a moment and smiled softly, the hopes for his own son or daughter wiping away the last of the morose feelings his reminiscing had wrought. He crossed the room to the mirror and adjusted his coat, pleased with his appearance.

Everything was different now, he'd taken control of his life, and his choices would allow him to safeguard the path of his unborn child. Nothing else should matter…

"Nothing else matters," he whispered to his reflection, ignoring how hollow the words sounded even to his own ears. "Nothing."

**xXx**

Fenris waited patiently outside of Captain Jenkins's office. The captain's aide, a young guardsman Fenris had not seen before, had brought him a small ale and a few pieces of dried beef, and so the elf ate while he eavesdropped on the business of the small village's guard going on around him.

It seemed, from what he'd overheard, that the templars who'd been moving through the village when he'd last visited had left, their direction toward the south. There were plenty of rumors to be taken in, most of which were local stories, but Fenris listened carefully, as there was still plenty of tongue wagging going on about the abomination's time there.

He silently wondered how much of the tale of his confrontation with the mage would have made its way back to Aveline. He frowned at the thought it would likely also include the minor detail that he'd outright lied about his authority to hunt Anders. He considered the captain's likely reaction to this and put down the beef, his appetite put off by the image his mind had conjured.

He brushed his hands together, the greasy residue left on his fingers making them tacky. With a sigh, he tucked the dried beef into his pocket and considered the reception of his other friends.

Varric, he thought, would at least be pleased with Fenris's cunning: the dwarf would likely laugh and buy him a pint. Merrill, on the other hand, would be utterly confused at the entire retelling. Donnic, he felt sure, would pull Fenris aside when Aveline was not aware and gleefully ask for more details.

If only the templars had not interfered, then he would have a vastly better story to relate.

Captain Jenkins suddenly stepped from his office, a parchment in his hand and his eyes focused upon it when he began to speak. "Guardsman Daniels, make sure this gets sent down to Guardsman Miller, he needs to read the latest – " he paused, having finally looked up from the paper, and spotted Fenris. A smile drew across his face. "Well, Andraste's panties! Fenris! It's damned fine to see you again, ser!" he declared happily, dropping the parchment onto the Daniels' desk. "I didn't know you were out here! Daniels! Why didn't you tell me he was out here?"

The guardsman blushed. "Ah, well ser, because you said I wasn't to let anyone bother you, ser."

"Yeah, but he's not just _anyone_! Can't you tell the difference?" Jenkins scolded, shaking his head. "At least you got him something to eat," he muttered. He turned and extended his hand to Fenris. "It's good to see you again. I'm sorry my aide here is an idiot."

"He was most gracious, Captain, and I am also here unannounced. It is my poor manners which have caused this situation, ser, not your aide's."

Jenkins shook his head, smiling. "Fanciest talking elf in the whole of Thedas," he muttered good-naturedly. "Alright Daniels, you're off the hook. But if this gentleman arrives here again, you let me know immediately, understood? He's a good friend, deserves a proper welcome."

Daniels nodded. "Yes, ser, Captain. It won't happen again."

Jenkins extended a hand to Fenris, who took it with ease. "Well, Fenris, I was just about to get something to eat. Care to join me?" he asked, walking toward the exit. "Oh! I almost forgot. Daniels? Have you still got those letters from Kirkwall set aside? This is the fellow they were intended for."

"Absolutely, ser, just a moment," the young man answered, opening a small drawer at the desk behind him. He pulled a small stack of letters out, the package tied together with twine. "For you, ser," he stated, passing them to Fenris. "These haven't been here all that long, that one on top came just yesterday. You've got good timing."

Fenris inclined his head. "In some things, perhaps. Thank you, Guardsman."

Jenkins pulled open the door and stepped outside, Fenris following behind him.

"Fenris, it's good to see you, though I'm surprised it's so soon after you left? Did you get the monster?"

Fenris shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. I became gravely ill and had to break off the hunt until I could recover. I felt it best to backtrack here and gather more recent information on things before I proceeded north into Tevinter."

"That's probably best," Jenkins commented as they walked toward the local pub. "Where've you been, then? Feeling better?"

"I am, thank you. I've been staying in a small homestead northeast of here. I was fortunate enough to have found some good people who were willing to care for me."

"Well, Andraste must have been watching over you, my friend, because there are far and few people between here and the border. Most keep to themselves, it can be real dangerous living that close to Tevinter. Slavers travel back and forth without any regard for property lines."

"Indeed."

Just as they were reaching the entrance to the pub, a guardswoman Fenris recognized approached Jenkins. "Ser? Captain?"

Jenkins sighed, stopped and turned slowly. "Yes?"

"They need you in the market, ser. There's a disagreement between a customer and Arlo."

"Then tell Arlo to settle it," Jenkins said. He turned to Fenris. "You remember Arlo, right? He's the dwarf that owns the smithy."

"Of course," Fenris replied. "If you're needed, please go."

Jenkins shook his head. "Nope. My guard is perfectly capable of handling this, aren't you, Guardswoman?"

The woman shook her head. "No, ah, no ser. I'm sorry, but Arlo threw a hammer at the customer and it's taking everything to keep them apart. The customer's Qunari."

"_Shit_. Why'd Arlo go and do something so stupid?" Jenkins cursed, running his hand through his hair.

Fenris tucked his letters inside his chest plate. "Captain, I have experience with the Qunari, and such an insult will not go unanswered. Your attention to this matter is warranted. I shall be happy to accompany you, if you'd like."

"Alright, I'd appreciate that, though letting Arlo get his arse kicked by one of them giants would do him a world of good," he replied. "Fine, let's go. If we get this settled quickly, I can still get a meal. I'm starving."

With a slight smile, Fenris walked beside his friend as they began toward the market. "Here, I have some dried beef still," he said, offering what little meat he had tucked into his pocket to the captain. "It isn't wise to fight a Qunari on an empty stomach."

Jenkins paled. "Fight a qun – damn it. Pass me that," he rasped, snatching the beef and crammed it into his mouth. "Stupid Arlo."

**xXx**

Aveline paced her office, the hour ridiculously early and the barracks still quiet. She'd been unable to sleep, the news that another contract against her best friend's life existed robbing her of any chance of rest.

She had raced to the Hanged Man last evening, Varric's uncharacteristic summons scaring her enough that she'd forgotten to remind the dwarf that she didn't answer a summons. After Varric had explained Leliana's dire revelation, they'd spent hours going over the extensive notes and documents Leliana had shared.

It was bad. Very, very bad.

Walter, the only man in Varric's employ the dwarf felt he could trust with the job, had been sent to Starkhaven. Donnic had ridden with him, and Aveline had been glad for it. Donnic could protect the young man and keep the pace needed to get word to Sebastian and Lorelai as quickly as possible. Sending multiple riders would have been fastest, of course, but it would also have made being discovered far more likely. The truth was, Varric and Aveline now knew the list of who they could trust was terribly short, the details of the contract on Lorelai had proven that much.

No, Donnic and Walter making the trip was the only option.

So she paced, worried not just for her friend, who had no idea the extent of danger she was in, but for her husband's safety as well.

The plot discovered by Leliana was thoroughly effective. Her notes revealed an intricate network of information being sent to a home in Starkhaven. None of the pieces of information on their own revealed anything of significance; some notes and reports were as simple as what foods were ordered, or receipts for cloth. There had even been a detailed report on the condition of a particular road in the countryside of Starkhaven, but when it was all read together…

The simplest of things added up to a very big picture. Someone knew every detail of the staff who supported the Prince and Princess of Starkhaven. And they knew when, how, and where each cook, maid, laundress, servant or guard would eat, rest, and report for duty.

"Bloody hell," she muttered as her mind considered the massive advantage an assassin would have with such information.

"You know, I'm tempted to head out myself," said a familiar voice from behind her. "Maker knows, I'd sleep better if I could lay eyes on her."

Aveline turned and sighed. "Varric. You're here early."

"Ah well, I figured we could pace together," quipped the dwarf. "That _is_ what you're doing, right?"

Arching an eyebrow, she nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm feeling a bit useless at the moment."

"That's because we _are_ useless, Red." He shut the door to her office and crossed to the chairs before her desk, sitting down heavily. "We missed it. If Leliana hadn't gotten a case of conscience we'd still be in the dark."

"We'd have sorted it out."

"Yeah, right after Lorelai's funeral," he replied sourly, before he shifted and put something onto her desk. "Remember this?"

Aveline approached and looked down, seeing he'd placed his signet ring on the desk top. "Yes."

"You know, when I got that back I felt like I was whole again. Like I finally had it all together. I wasn't just some surface dwarf, I was someone to be reckoned with. Dwarf, elf or human, everyone could look at that and know Varric Tethras was somebody."

"That was true _before_ Lorelai found the ring, Varric."

"No. That thing changed me."

She picked up the ring and moved around her desk, sitting down to study it. "How?"

He scratched his head, his frustration obvious as he then flopped back against the chair. "It occurs to me that the guy I was before I got that ring had a hell of a lot more common sense. I mean, being 'Varric Tethras'… well, that takes work, right? He's important, powerful, people are always watching him. And he's gotten too damn big for his britches."

"But you _are_ Varric Tethras."

"No, or at least, I wasn't supposed to be. He's nothing but a slick-talking opportunist who's got a finger in every pie, worried about kickbacks and warehouse fees and controlling Lowtown."

"And who, then, are you?"

"The guy who used to be somebody his friends could count on."

"Varric," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Old friend, don't do this to yourself. Neither one of us saw this out there."

"That's my point. Maybe me – the old me, the guy who _didn't_ care about what that ring stood for – would have seen something. Maybe he wouldn't have been so caught up in his own bullshit that he'd have figured this out."

She smiled softly, her kind eyes meeting his. "Donnic and Walter will get there in time."

He acted as if she'd not spoken and sat forward, his elbows on his knees. "All this got me thinking that when this is done, however it goes down, that it's time for me to go. It's time to leave the useless son-of-a-bitch who cares so damned much about that ring behind me."

"Varric, if I'd known you came here to throw a pity party, I'd have brought biscuits." She held up a hand, staying off his rebuttal. "I don't agree with what you've just said about yourself. Not in the least. I think you're a loyal, honorable man who'd do anything for those he cares for," she countered. "But I will confess I find myself thinking something of the same thing. It feels like it may be time to let Kirkwall and her troubles worry someone else for a change."

The old companions sighed together before silence settled between them. A few thoughtful moments later, Varric spoke.

"If I had a day or so, I could be ready to leave. For good."

"Hmm. I've a candidate in mind for my job. I could speak to Bran in a few hours."

"What about Donnic? And your place?"

"Donnic will be thrilled, he's been pushing for us to go for months now. Our quarters belong to Kirkwall, right down to the bed, and I expect my replacement will move right in. Vacating shouldn't be terribly difficult, there's only a few things of value there. Donnic is as spartan as I," she explained. She paused, watching her friend who looked deep in thought. "It's time, Varric. Whether it's us that's changed, or Kirkwall, this is no longer home."

The dwarf cracked his knuckles. "No, no, it's not. Hasn't been in a while," he rasped sadly. He cleared his throat. "Alright. Two days?"

"Two days. We leave for good in two days."

"Okay, where we headed?"

"Starkhaven first. After that, I expect Donnic and I will head home."

Varric nodded, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Ferelden."

"Yes, assuming there isn't a reason to stay in Starkhaven. What about you?"

"I've been thinking about the Anderfels, actually. Good trade there, not a lot of dwarves to butt heads with," the blond man answered. "Plus, it's warm. Daisy doesn't like the cold."

Aveline smiled. "I was just going to ask about Merrill. Is that how it is, then? The two of you?"

"No, I… well, I'm not sure how _she_ feels, at least not yet. Either way, I sure as hell won't leave her here all by herself."

"Good. Two days. And this is day one?"

He stood, rapping the desk top with his knuckle. "This is day one."

"Where shall we meet?"

"Daisy's, tomorrow night. Leaving under the cover of darkness is probably best."

"Agreed. What about your ring?" she asked, holding it out to him.

"Sell it, it can help with supplies and do us some good for once."

"If you're certain?"

With a quick nod, Varric began to leave her office. "Oh, and Red?"

"Don't worry," she interrupted, already drawing a quill from her inkwell. "I'll let Fenris know."

A dark look of worry clouded Varric's features. "Tell him me and Merrill will come find him."

"What about the Anderfels?"

"It'll still be there after we find him. I've got something of his he'll want back."

"Alright. I'll tell him," she assured him.

"Good. Okay then, it's decided. I'll see you tomorrow night, Red." He left her office, shutting the door quietly.

Staring down at the letter she must now pen to Fenris, she found herself surprised at how peaceful she felt about their decision to depart Kirkwall. Glancing around her office, her eyes lighting from one memento to the next, she drew a deep breath.

"This is good. This is right," she whispered as she turned her focus to her letter.

_Dear Fenris…_

**xXx**

The sun shone brightly, the day not too warm. Honeysuckle was in full bloom and Lorelai inhaled deeply the sweet scent that bounced with the breeze, wishing that the guard would have allowed them to travel in an open coach. It was a beautiful day.

Goran Vael sat across from her, a lazy, languid smile of satisfaction on his pudgy face. They'd had a wonderful morning visiting, returning to the first small hamlet that they'd toured together, and were both impressed with the improvements that had been made to the schoolhouse there.

Lorelai had spoken at length with the new teacher, a stern-looking older man who'd surprised her with the innovative ideas he had on how to best help the local children – who for so long hadn't had any formal schooling – catch up with other students their age in Starkhaven. She'd left feeling confident that no child from that village would be left wanting for an education.

"You seem pleased, Goran. Perhaps you've changed your mind about educating _all_ the children of Starkhaven?" she asked, remembering how he'd been baffled that she believed everyone was entitled to learn.

"No' in the least, my lass," he replied with a snort. "I still believe it's a burden tae the da's, taking their Maker-given help off the land during a workin' day. And I still think it's pointless tae teach a farmer tae do anythin' other than tae farm. Nay, I'm happy because I was able tae enjoy a very fine pint or two. Those lads may muck in the mire, aye, but their tankards are wondrously deep."

She hid her smile, shaking her head. He was an ass, her husband's witless cousin, but he was an entertaining one.

"I suppose there's something to redeem us all, isn't there?" she quipped, though she didn't expect him to deduce she was teasing him. "They're hard-working, tireless, good people. I enjoyed our visit."

"Aye! That's wha' I was just thinkin' tae myself. Dirty and smell o' dung, but generous with their wine. A balance is struck in that, don't ye know."

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, thank the Maker for that."

"Aye!" he agreed, sitting forward, the tight fitted and vivid orange vest he was wearing pressing into his rather large belly. He huffed a bit, adjusting his position. "Now, I've a question tae ask ye, one I was hopin' tae pose to ye withou' Sebastian hearing."

"Alright."

"Do ye think he'll be wantin' tae wear my coronation robe when he's declared Prince? I didnae think he can pull off the lovely orange, but those are questions best answered by a female."

She blinked. "Oh. Right." She paused, caught off guard at the question. "Your robe was orange? Wait. Of course it was," she muttered. "Goran, I'm certain Sebastian would be happiest in something less… bold."

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "Aye, he's a somber lad, and he's no' got the proper coloring or style tae draw the eye tae him. Nay, ye have the right o' it, lass, Sebastian needs something else. Too bad he's – oy!" he called out, as their carriage suddenly increased speed, pitching her forward and throwing him back against his seat.

"Are ye alright, my dear?" he asked as he helped her sit back. "Perhaps our driver had a wee nip himself!"

She nodded and grabbed the sill of the window, the ride becoming increasingly turbulent. They both braced themselves as she tried to see what was happening.

"Goran! Are we being chased?" she asked quickly, seeing that the four guardsmen who would normally be walking alongside the carriage were now clinging to its exterior. She couldn't see the guard who should have been riding horseback. "What's happening?" she yelled out to the man closest to her.

"Stay inside! Stay low!" he barked, his grip on the window frame precarious at best. The carriage turned sharply and the man nearly lost his hold. Lorelai grabbed handfuls of the front of his uniform, saving him from falling.

Goran lunged forward to their aid, adding his hold on the man as well, until the carriage again veered.

"Bollocks!" Goran cried out as the vehicle began to teeter. "We're going over!"

Lorelai's vision became a blur of motion and colors, the carriage pitching violently to and fro. She heard the scream of the horses, the crack of the wood as the axles broke, and they tumbled inside until coming to a sudden and brutal stop.


	36. Dead Man Walking

_**Hi y'all! **_

_**Firstly, thank you again to Lisa for her beta. She's really helped get this story back on its feet and I'm very grateful to her for her championing of it.**_

_**Secondly, I want to state that I am fully aware of the physical limitations that a woman endures when she is heavily pregnant (I've been in that position myself several times.) I've tried very hard to ensure that the scenes in this chapter reflect Lorelai's condition while remembering that survival (and protecting one's child) is an extraordinary motivator. Mama Bear is not a joke.**_

_**Thirdly, THANK YOU for reviewing! I am so excited to be back at this and your reviews are a massive motivation. I'm very grateful to each of you for the alerts, favorites and reviews. **_

_**Lastly, I'm on a huge road trip across the USA with five kids – might be mid-July before there's another update, but please know I am working daily on it and will publish it as quickly as I can.**_

_**THANK YOU! Here we go…**_

**Dead Man Walking**

Fletcher sat quietly inside of the Prince of Starkhaven's large reception room, his uneasy stomach causing him to scowl. He'd made his decision, and despite his immediate sense of dissatisfaction with it, he'd decided to stick with it.

His stomach could go to the Void if it couldn't see good reason.

Sighing, he resolutely ignored the sense of loss he felt, since it was ridiculous, after all, to feel this way when he'd never been the court healer to begin with. He could hardly mourn for something he'd never enjoyed.

A guard hurried into the hall, and while he made an attempt at maintaining decorum, there was no mistaking the sense of urgency in his gait.

This, of course, and the fact that this was the second guard to so do in the last half hour, held absolutely no interest to Fletcher, as he was _not_ the court healer and had decided _never_ to be.

It was a good choice, he reminded himself as his eyes followed the progress of the guard. A good choice for several reasons, the first of which being that he had no interest in returning to the Circle. That the prince had explained his goals for the formation of one was irrelevant; Fletcher was a free man and he'd be a lunatic to give that freedom up.

Except he wasn't quite so free, given he had to hide who he really was, before shaking his head. No, he'd made his decision, and the fact that he would be able to live openly and resume his studies and his life's work wouldn't sway him.

Blinking slowly, he paused, a thought striking him with a jolt.

But what if this was it? His last chance to return to his craft? Which would be more distressful? Living in the shadows outside the Circle, or living inside it, his choices restricted, but doing what he loved most?

Wasn't each choice equally confining in its own way?

His ponderings were subsequently halted by a loud thud, the side door to the chamber smacking against the wall behind it. Fletcher leapt to his feet as he realized it was the prince who'd thrown it open and was now striding towards him at a quick pace, a bevy of nobles and servants at his heels.

"Ser! We're no' finished! Ye canna mean tae throw out such accusations an' leave us!" cried one finely dressed older man. "I will no' be ignored!"

The prince didn't respond, his piercing blue eyes instead locking onto Fletcher. "You're with me!" he ordered, pointing at the mage, his tone leaving no room for Fletcher to hesitate as he strode past. "MacLeod, you're dismissed!" he then snarled, not bothering to look back at the nobleman.

The older man came to a halt, his face red with anger, hate flashing in his beady brown eyes. Two of the royal household's pages stopped with MacLeod, flanking the man to prevent further pursuit of the prince.

Fletcher, who'd shot to his feet at the prince's command, was both baffled and excited at the same time. "Your Highness?" he asked as he jogged next to the man. "I, ah, I had hoped to speak to you about our earlier conversation."

The ruler of Starkhaven didn't reply, he instead continued quickly forward, striding down a narrow hall which led him, Fletcher and the few guard who'd been with them outside to a small courtyard.

Fletcher immediately recognized it was a stable yard. There were at least a dozen guards already mounted on horses and wearing not livery but battle armor. He saw two servants hurriedly dress the prince in an ornate set of armor, and felt panic bubble inside his chest.

"Bloody hell, what's happening?" Fletcher muttered as he stopped short.

"Seb! I'm here!" shouted a voice and Fletcher spun around, immediately recognizing the overly-tall man who'd called out to the prince as his aunt's former charge and current employer.

"Cam! We're to the west!" answered the prince as he swung up onto his mount. A stable lad passed up a longbow and a stocked quiver, the prince quickly slinging both around his torso. His horse danced beneath him, the animal sensing the tension of its rider.

The prince gathered the reins and turned his horse, again settling his gaze upon Fletcher. "Fletcher? Can ye ride?"

The mage nodded, stammering. "Ah, well, uh, yes, I can. Not well, and not in ages, but I can seat a horse in a pinch. Where are we going?"

"Bring him a horse!" the prince demanded and the stable boy darted off, arriving just a few moments later at Fletcher's side. "Yeoman! Tell the others tae follow the west road and tae ride hard. I will no' wait any longer!"

Fletcher, who was being given a foothold by the stable boy who'd brought him his steed, quickly found his seat. Leaning low to take the reins from the lad, he whispered, "What's happening?"

The boy shrugged and softly answered. "I dinnae know, ser, somethin' about the princess."

"What about her?"

The boy shook his head. "Canna say, but I ken she an' the auld prince are late. I helped tae set their carriage earlier. Their guards, too."

"No one's back yet?"

"Nay, ser, no' a one o' them, no' even an outrider tellin' us tae expect them," he answered, then gestured to the prince. "Ye best make ready, ser."

With those words, the lad quickly stepped clear, pressing himself against the stone wall of the courtyard. Fletcher looked around him and saw that the guards riding with them had finished forming ranks and with the prince's command, the gate to the outside was thrown open.

"Oh, Maker's knickers, what have I got myself into?" Gulping loudly, Fletcher yelped and gripped his reins tightly as his horse surged forward, the prince having charged out the gate, leaving the guards and others to race behind him.

xXx

Lorelai opened her eyes, blinking slowly as she drew a shaky breath. Pain shot through her left arm and she cried out, falling back. She slowly rolled to her right, away from the pain. Steeling herself against the agony she knew would come, she moved and looked down her side, seeing that her elbow was turned in a horribly unnatural direction.

Fear sliced through her as she thought of the baby and she closed her eyes, trying to sense for any other injuries to her or the baby.

"Lassie?"

She shifted her weight, focusing intensely on her child, but felt nothing unusual about the baby's position.

"Lorelai?"

Gritting her teeth as pain coursed through her, she replied.

"Shh! Try and stay quiet, we don't know – oh, hell," she breathed, gasping as she spotted her companion. He was seated inside the broken door of the carriage, which now rested so that its front wheels were high in the air. His right thigh had something protruding from it. "Goran? Hold on, I'm trying to get to you," she panted as she grasped the cushion above her. She struggled to pull herself upright.

"Nay, ye best stay put," he grunted, his features pale with pain. "We've landed against a tree, from what I can tell."

She looked around her, realizing that he was right, seeing that the carriage must have cartwheeled into its position. Leaves and branches visible above them and a few of the thicker branches appeared to have punctured the body of the carriage itself. Her eyes darted back to Goran's leg and he nodded, having watched her deduce his injury.

"Just the leg?"

He nodded slowly.

"Alright, don't move. I think I can stand up, we need to know what's going on," she said softly. "We have to see – "

"The guards will – "

"The guards aren't here, or they'd be helping us. I think they're busy defending us, Goran. Or dead."

"Lass, the bairn… Maker have mercy," he groaned, his face twisted with pain. He blew out a long breath. "Ye need tae wait for our rescue."

Lorelai pulled herself up cautiously, bracing her knees beneath her before tentatively planting a foot against the back of the seat. She was now face-to-face with Goran's injured leg. It was bad.

"Woman, be still, I tell ye! Ye canna be doin' such – "

"Goran, do shut up," she panted, the pain in her arm, combined with the awkwardness of her belly, making her feel woozy. She steadied herself and met his eyes. "We both heard the guard before we crashed, I think we were being attacked. And we could still be in danger!"

"An' wha' do ye plan on doin' about it if we are?" he demanded sharply, immediately grabbing his leg in pain.

"Hold still, you don't know how bad that wound is!" she scolded as she turned her attention to the condition of the mostly destroyed carriage. "And I don't know yet, but waiting here like sitting ducks seems a very bad idea to me."

She reached above her head and grabbed a thick tassel of the curtains that were still attached to the front window, the one that now gave a view of the sky. Tugging it, she decided it was strong enough to hold her. She wound the tassel around her wrist and pulled, placing a foot against the back of the cushion and walking slowly up the interior of the carriage.

As she reached the opening above her, she dug the toes of her shoes into the back of the chair, using every ounce of strength she could muster to stand high enough to put her shoulders through the opening.

She could see around them, see the slope they'd ridden down, as well as the path of destruction their crash had caused. There were two dead guards nearby, the first the man who she and Goran had tried to save from falling earlier – his twisted form had clearly been trampled – and the other man was face down in the mud, three arrows protruding from his back.

"Lass? What do ye see?"

"Shh! It was definitely an attack, but by whom, I can't tell yet," she replied as quietly as she could. "I need to climb out, but I can't, I can't pull my legs up enough."

"Lorelai, the other door is broken, it's off its hinge. I can see it," Goran explained. "Perhaps ye could force it back, so it was tae open into the coach? Tha' would make a good foothold."

The muscles in her legs were burning from fatigue, her good arm was beginning to quiver from holding her position steady and she felt her abdomen spasm under the strain. She needed to either go up, or go down, otherwise she was going to fall. She carefully lowered herself back into the wreckage.

"How are you?" she asked him once she was steady. She studied him, concerned at his color. Glancing around him, she didn't see a great deal of blood, certainly not enough to account for his pallor. He had to have more substantial injuries he wasn't aware of.

She needed to get them out of there.

"Are ye… are ye sure the bairn is safe?"

"He won't be if we get trapped here, Goran. We're defenseless." She gave her attention to the opposite door, its frame partly buckled around it, the door forced backwards into the body of the coach. "Goran, you're a genius! This will put me high enough above the window that I can sit above it and climb out."

"Assumin' yer able tae – " he paused, coughing softly, " – squeeze through."

She grasped the knob of the door with her good hand and began to drag it into position. "The same question applies to you, ser."

The older man snorted. "Such cheek, how ma cousin stands it… "

They were both quiet as she worked on creating an awkward ladder of broken parts, but she did so as quickly as she could. A moment or two later, she was able to make the climb, her balance heavily impaired by her pregnancy, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized _would_ she fit through the window.

Gracelessly, she climbed down the fractured body, being as careful of her baby as she could be, getting several cuts and scrapes along the way. Once her feet were firmly on the dirt, and her balance found, she moved to where Goran could be seen.

She covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting him to hear her gasp as the explanation of his coloring revealed itself. Goran wasn't just impaled on the tree, he had a large shard of glass lodged in his back, along with several other pieces stabbed into his back and buttocks. He must have gone through the window of the door when they'd crashed into the tree.

"Damn it," she cursed softly. "Oh, no." She shook her head, then looked up to speak to him. "Goran? I think… I think we'll need some help to get you free," she said in the most even tone she could muster.

"Aye," came his muffled reply, as he wasn't able to move to face her. "Ye best be findin' some, lass, I'm feelin' poorly."

"Right, okay then, I'm going."

"And lass? I can see across the way, tae the edge of the hill, now tha' the other door is moved. I canna see much, but I dinna see our lads. I think ye had the right o' it, so be careful, do ye hear me? Sebastian will no'… "he paused for a moment, and she heard his breath come in huffs. "He'll no' forgive me if anything happens tae ye."

"It'll be fine, Goran. I'll be right back, you just… you just rest, okay?"

He didn't reply.

xXx

Sebastian led his men at a breakneck pace down the west road away from Starkhaven, his features hardened with purpose.

He'd held his wife in his arms just that morning, she'd been safe, next to him and now…

Every fiber of his being sensed Lorelai was in danger. He'd known, somehow, when his sergeant-at-arms had advised him that the princess's carriage and entourage had yet to return, that something was wrong. He'd tried to ignore his instincts, he'd reminded himself that any number of reasons could have delayed her return, but as his meeting with the Council had continued, he'd observed the tension of his guards, he'd seen their distraction and he knew their thoughts were aligned with his.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. And he'd not hesitated a moment longer.

Now, as he pushed his horse to its limits, he charged down the road, desperate for some sign of her party. She and Goran had to have travelled this route to visit the village they'd been to, but there was nothing, no disturbance or…

His thoughts were forgotten as his eyes alighted on a subtle trail of trampled grass, grass that was waist high and ready for haying. Drawing his horse in, he scanned the area, searching for the signs of a carriage.

"Seb!" cried Cameron as he arrived at his friend's side. "What? What do ye see?"

Sebastian pointed to the trail. "There! That grass is bent, the dust from the road still sits on it! There's a slope downward beyond it, I can see tree tops."

Cameron looked around him, shaking his head. "But that could be – "

"It's a _trail_, and the damage to the grass is wide. I'm taking it."

"Seb, wait! Listen, if you're wrong, then we've lost time. Aye, maybe they're just late, but ye and I know it could be something else, pal."

The prince's eyes narrowed, fixed on the grass.

"Seb, if we split up here, ye and some of the men can search tha' field, while I take the others further west."

"Do it," Seb commanded and urged his horse forward, leaving Cameron behind him to sort out who would go where.

xXx

Lorelai quickly assessed her surroundings. A thick bramble bush surrounded them, almost forming a wall, and she realized that the carriage was slightly hidden within the thicket.

"Good, there's that at least," she breathed, hoping it would keep the helpless Goran concealed until she could secure aid. Looking up the slope, and back toward the road, she immediately set aside the idea of climbing to it. First, she had no idea what was at the top of the slope; second, she couldn't risk slipping down it, not with only one good hand to catch herself with.

Glancing above her, she estimated the sun's position and began walking away from it, knowing she was walking east, toward the palace. If she could get far enough away without being caught by whoever had attacked them, then she would find a safe way to return to the road, where she had some hope of getting help for Goran.

"Oy! Oy!"

She spun on her heel, looking behind her, the carriage only a few dozen yards back, when she heard Goran shout again.

"We're in here, laddies! We're _both_ in here!" he bellowed. "Hurry! The princess is hurt!"

She instantly knew Goran was warning her that whoever he could see approaching was a possible threat. He was bravely drawing them to him, rather than risk exposing her. She hid herself behind a tightly-woven clump of vines, trying to see who it was he'd called to, but as she did so, a wave of pain grabbed her middle.

"Oh!" she gasped, her hands twisting into the vines as the intensity of the pain increased. She clenched her teeth in agony.

_Don't scream!_

The muscles in her abdomen slowly unclenched and she felt a wave of relief. Releasing the vines, her focus returned, ignoring the spike of worry about the baby.

Searching the area, she saw the people in question. Three men, none of whom wore Starkhaven's colors, were quickly climbing down the hill, and all were well-armed. As she studied each person, she knew the third was a professional assassin, recognizing the style of his daggers and particular armor as those favored in the trade.

Everything made sense.

She froze for a moment, her mind racing, her eyes locked onto what she could still see of the carriage. Those men would kill Goran, she was certain of it. Going back could save him, they may spare him if they achieved their goal and complete their contract, a contract she knew must be on her.

She should go back. It was the right thing to do.

Or it used to be… except now she didn't have the luxury of choosing what was right. Did she really have to choose between her child's life and Goran's? Her nostrils flared as she drew a shaky breath and nearly threw up.

No, she couldn't go back. There was someone helpless and utterly innocent whose life mattered more than her morals and sense of honor. "Maker have mercy on you, Goran," she whispered, her heart breaking as she turned to flee.

**xXx**

Sebastian's horse set a quick pace, its rider's eyes locked onto the trail they were following through the grassy field. Rearing back slightly, the prince's mount drew up short.

"Whoa!" shouted Fletcher as his own horse nearly slammed into the prince's. He immediately spotted what had made the horse halt. "Oh bugger," he muttered, seeing the dead guardsman, his throat slit open. It was obvious the poor man was beyond help.

"You!" barked Sebastian, speaking to a soldier to his right. "Return to the road and get the other men! Tell Lord Avery to ride hard to us! Go!" he commanded as he took his bow into his hand. He nocked an arrow before turning to Fletcher. "You stay back, Fletcher. It's clear your services will be needed, so be smart and avoid the fighting. Understood?"

"Yes, I'll be careful."

With a curt nod, the prince urged his horse forward, using his legs to guide the well-trained animal as his bow remained at the ready. Starkhaven's soldiers drew their own weapons, following their liege through the field.

"I didn't take the job, did I? When did I take the job? I wasn't _going_ to," Fletcher muttered softly to himself, his tone almost a whine. He looked up, realizing he was being left. "Oh bloody hell! Move your arse, Fletcher, or you'll be dead on the first day!"

**xXx**

Lorelai moved as quickly as she could through the tangled brush, the sharp thorns of the different vines and bushes catching at her skin and clothes. The pain in her middle had returned two more times, but she couldn't stop, she couldn't risk being discovered.

She didn't know if the baby was coming or if it was hurt, but as long as the men sent to kill her were out there, it didn't matter, either way. She had to get to safety.

"Here!" called out a voice unfamiliar to her. "Someone went this way!"

"Damn it!" she hissed, glancing over her shoulder as she pushed on. She was too awkward in her size to move without leaving a significant trail, and clearly, they'd discovered it. She stopped, searching her surroundings for a weapon. She was too slow to outrun them; she'd have to fight.

Her eyes landed upon a wide and ancient oak tree, one whose massive branches spread out like gargantuan arms. There was a single branch low enough for her to possibly climb on, and as she followed the various directions the other branches took, she smiled, seeing that two of the largest were lower ones which were heavily obscured by hanging wild grape vines.

Those tracking her would see her trail's end and they'd likely guess at her choice to climb, but being above them would give her a tactical advantage, and it might be the only one she'd get. And there was also the slight chance that they'd simply continue with their search, never looking up and missing her altogether.

Her decision made, she searched quickly for the best foothold and, after an agonizing few seconds, was able to force her knee up into a junction in the branch. Her middle on fire, she bit her lip to keep from yelling as she lifted herself up.

It took a moment to steady herself, but she shifted her weight and began to crawl her way up the longest branch.

**xXx**

Sebastian swung off of his horse before it'd even drawn to a full stop. He'd ridden past several bodies of his young guardsmen and had offered a quick prayer for each. Whoever had attacked the royal party was skilled, and the body count entirely in their villainous favor, but now, as his eyes settled on the nearly destroyed carriage below him, he felt only panic.

"Lorelai!" he shouted, his bow clenched in his hand, the arrow lost, as he ran toward the wreckage. He slid down, nearly tumbling toward the carriage as the grass he was rushing through became slick beneath his boots.

His men at his side, they'd nearly reached the carriage when there was a shout and the man nearest to Sebastian dropped dead, an arrow through his eye.

"From there!" bellowed the prince, pointing to the left of the wreckage, where the arrow had come from. An arrow whistled past his head and he retaliated by shooting several rapid shots into the area, providing cover for his advancing men.

"Seb!" cried Cameron from the peak of the slope.

Sebastian heard his best friend ordering the men who'd arrived with Cameron down the grade and into combat. Within seconds, their attackers were revealed and killed, outnumbered and outmaneuvered by the soldiers.

Sebastian fell to his knees, searching the body of the first man before moving to the second. "Damn!" he hissed, as he pulled a blood-stained parchment from the man's armor. It was a sketching of Lorelai. "_Damn_!"

"Sebastian! Sebastian, come here!"

The prince shot to his feet, running in the direction of Cameron's call. His faithful friend was standing next to the tree which was propping up the carriage, his features tight with distress.

"Is she here?" Sebastian demanded, grabbing Cameron's arm. "Cam!"

"No, she, ah, she got away, pal. At least, she got away from here. No, it's Goran, he's in there. He's dying, he's nearly gone."

"Get the mage and send the others to start looking for Lorelai's trail," Sebastian commanded as he searched for a way to climb into the carriage. He quickly did so, lowering himself into the cab, his eyes on his elderly cousin.

"Goran, Maker have mercy, Cousin."

Goran's vivid blue eyes slowly opened and he blinked rapidly. He tried to speak but his words were almost too quiet to hear.

"Goran, save your strength. I've brought a healer with me, be easy."

The former ruler of Starkhaven shook his head, frowning. Mustering what little strength he had, he beckoned Sebastian to him.

"Please, rest, don't try to – "

"East," Goran breathed, his eyes locked with Sebastian's.

"Lorelai? Towards the city?"

"Aye."

"We killed two men, Cousin. Were there more? Was she hurt? Is she still in danger?"

Goran minutely shook his head. "Aye, three."

"Was she hurt?" Sebastian asked again, his tone urgent, knowing his cousin was running out of time. "Goran!"

Goran's breathing was wet sounding, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "Hel…help her."

Nodding, Sebastian gently placed his hands on his cousin's cheeks, cradling his face. "Ye were good to us, Cousin. Be at peace, the healer is coming."

"G… g…. go," Goran sputtered almost silently, his eyes closing.

There was loud motion above them on what was now the carriage's roof. Sebastian didn't look away from his dying cousin as Fletcher dropped down behind him.

The mage placed a firm hand on the prince's shoulder. "Let me see what can be done for him."

Sebastian nodded, stepping clear and granting Fletcher access to Goran.

"We're tae the east, Fletcher. I'll leave a few men here with ye."

Fletcher sighed. "No need, your Highness. I'm sorry, he's gone."

"Aye, I thought so. Let's go, my wife is out there alone and there's a man I need tae kill."

**xXx**

"That's rather impressive, your Highness," purred a man's voice. "I wouldn't have thought a woman so heavy with child could climb a tree."

Lorelai held still, knowing she wasn't fully visible tucked behind the grape vines. From her position, she could see the man she'd known was the assassin, and she watched as his eyes searched the tree's branches.

"I know you're up there," he said in a sing-song voice. "Come on, now, you're caught. Why fight the inevitable?"

He circled the base of the tree before he planted a boot on its base and hoisted himself up to the lower branch.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Shaking from the pain of her arm and her belly, she struggled to remain as still as she could.

"There's no help coming, my lady," the man continued as he chose another branch, now climbing higher than her position. "I heard some soldiers coming up behind us, so I sent back my two men. They'll make quick work of them, just as they did your guards. You're alone now. Nowhere to run."

She watched his assent and when he continued to climb up, she began calculating her escape. It would take him longer to safely get down from the tree than going up. Just a few more feet higher and she could try to flee.

Turning slowly, she gathered her tattered skirt and looked for the handholds she'd need to hurry down.

"Gotcha, Hawke," the man whispered menacingly and Lorelai looked up, startled to see that the assassin had somehow placed himself on the branch above her.

She scrambled away, nearly falling from the tree as she did so.

"Oh now, be careful! I'd hate for you to take a tumble," he taunted, dropping down to the branch she was on.

"Stay away from me!"

"No chance, I honor my commitments. Come here!"

"No!" she screamed as he lunged for her, but he grabbed her injured arm and jerked it.

She fell.

Her vision swam, her ears ringing as she gazed up, stunned and breathless, up into the massive canopy of the tree she'd been in.

"Why do you insist on being such a difficult bitch?" shouted her assassin as he dropped from the branch above, his booted feet landing on either side of her. "Do you have any fucking clue how hard it's been to orchestrate this? How much coin I've had to offer up?"

He spat on her and then raised a foot, bringing his heel down hard on her broken arm.

"Ah!" she shrieked.

"I should gut you for all the trouble you've cause me, cunt," he growled, drawing his daggers. "You're lucky I'm on a deadline, I won't have time to make it hurt. But I'll be needing something of yours to collect my pay." He ground his boot against her arm, making her scream in agony, and pinned her arm so he could grasp her hand. He jerked off her wedding ring and stepped back, smiling at his prize.

"Thanks. This should do."

His dropped down to his knees next to her, his dagger held high.

"No!" came a shout and the assassin leapt to his feet.

He then staggered back, his dagger dropped as he grasped at the arrow shaft protruding from his heart. Two more arrows slammed into him, the last into his forehead. He fell beside Lorelai, his eyes devoid of life.


	37. Their Labor of Love

**Their Labor of Love**

"No!" screamed Sebastian as he fired a third arrow into Lorelai's assailant: the man crumpled to the ground beside Lorelai. Sebastian ran to her, stumbling that last few feet as he dropped to his knees, gathering her into his arms. "Darlin'?"

She was covered in scrapes and bleeding cuts, an arm grotesquely angled, and her torn dress caked with mud and debris. Dried blood had crusted onto a gash on her cheek. Her eyes were open and they briefly met her husband's before her own rolled back in her head, her body becoming limp.

"No! No, Darlin', no!" he cried, cradling her, kissing her brow. He felt her draw a breath and relief washed through him. "Fletcher! _Fletcher_!"

"I'm here!" answered the mage as he broke through the thicket behind them and stopped, seeing the dead man and Lorelai in the prince's arms. "Bollocks," he said softly, before rushing forward again.

Fletcher pressed two fingers to Lorelai's neck and felt the pulse there. "She alive," he said, his tone one of relief. "Lay her down, let me check her."

Nodding, Sebastian tenderly lowered her back to the forest floor. Fletcher began his examination as Cameron and the soldiers arrived.

"Oh, no, is she – " Cameron began, but Sebastian cut him off.

"No! She's alive!"

Fletcher closed his eyes in concentration, feeling Lorelai's belly. "There's movement," he said softly to Sebastian. "I'm going to cast a general healing spell, I want to make sure she and the child are stabilized before I check her injuries."

Cameron glared down at the dead assassin and lifted him with his boot, rolling the man's carcass onto its side until it rested against the strong arrow shafts lodged in it. Cameron then crouched on his knees, just next to Fletcher.

"Her arm looks bad," he observed, his eyes full of concern. "Shouldn't ye fix it?" he asked Fletcher.

The handsome mage didn't open his eyes, his attention intensely focused on his patient.

Cameron looked at Sebastian. "Does he hear me when he's doin' that?" he whispered as he watched Fletcher cast. "Did he see her arm? Shouldn't he mend it?"

Fletcher muttered a few more soft words and then opened his eyes, looking at Cameron. "Yes, I _should_, but I must address her internal injuries first."

"Ah, well, tha' makes sense. But her arm – "

"Is a tad useless if she bleeds to death, wouldn't you agree?" Fletcher asked, arching an eyebrow at the other man and then looking to Sebastian. "Ser, she has injuries inside her. I've repaired them, but it's delicate work. It would be far safer to cast a second and stronger healing spell, something I can't do without my staff and using lyrium, neither of which is with me."

Cameron gaped. "Why in the Maker's name wouldn't ye bring yer staff?"

Fletcher stared at Cameron.

"The bairn?" the prince asked as he stroked Lorelai's hair.

"From what I can sense, it isn't in distress, but I fear that labor may have begun."

Sebastian shook his head, his features tight with a mixture of worry and anger. "What do we do? Do we send someone for what ye need or do we take her home?"

Fletcher sighed, his hands again on Lorelai's swollen belly, his eyes slipping closed. "If we can do so without jostling her about, we should take her home."

"Cameron," Sebastian rasped. "Make it so."

The tall man leapt to his feet. "I'll have the men build a stretcher, and send someone back for a wagon."

Fletcher nodded. "That should be sufficient. We'll need to be careful."

"Cameron and I will carry her out," Sebastian answered. "No more harm will come to her."

Cameron hurried away, calling the soldiers with them to order.

Sebastian met Fletcher's eyes. "Can ye postpone the labor?"

"If it _has_ truly begun, and by that I mean, the contractions I felt are not a temporary response to the princess's injuries, then no, I can't. I'm sorry, I know it's early. I'll do all that I can for the child."

The prince's nostrils flared, emotion warring in his eyes as they bored into Fletcher's. "It's not as early as we've allowed everyone tae think."

The mage blinked slowly, understanding the secret the prince had just shared was not done so lightly. "How far gone?"

"She's at her eighth month."

"That's good news then, if this advances. The baby will be bigger… which may be hard to explain."

"That is a bridge we'll cross when we come to it."

"Agreed."

The prince caressed his wife's cheek. "This is something we've guarded with care, Fletcher. If she delivers now, I will be forced tae ask ye tae tell a lie."

Fletcher smiled reassuringly. "Don't forget, I'm an apostate, ser. I understand the need to pick and choose who knows what, and when, better than almost anyone. You may count on my discretion."

Sebastian looked back down at Lorelai's pale face. "I'm in your debt."

**xXx**

The Qunari customer, it seemed, had indeed taken great exception to the hammer throwing dwarf and Fenris's afternoon proved more interesting than anticipated.

The towering horned man who had initially responded very reasonably to Captain Foster's intervention between himself and Arlo, the dwarven smithy. He'd even agreed to accept the apology of the other man and would have left peacefully.

Except, Fenris soon learned, that Arlo was an arse.

Arlo hadn't taken advantage of the respectable escape from the situation his hammer throwing had created, and to Foster and Fenris's horror, had thrown a second one at his Qunari customer.

It had gone downhill after that.

Now, a dozen bruised guardsmen, an unconscious dwarf and one destroyed storefront later, Fenris sat in his friend's office exhausted and nursing a swollen lip with a cold compress. Captain Foster groaned, chuckling and wincing at the same time before he moved a poultice from one blackened eye to the other.

"Fenris, the Maker surely does love me, because I have no idea how we'd have talked that fellow down from killing Arlo _or_ into leaving this village if you hadn't been here today," Foster said with a shake of his head. He touched a fingertip to his left eye. "Bollocks, my face hurts."

Fenris inclined his head. "Our injuries contest the success our 'talk' had with the gentleman. However, I was glad to be of service, my friend."

"Service? You saved the damned day! I still can't figure out how you were able to knock that fellow down – he must have been nearly seven feet tall! I'm going to lock Arlo up for a month when he finally wakes up."

"I was most impressed by the dwarf's ability to throw hammers in such a skillful arc. And despite his vocation, I wonder at the seemingly endless supply of hammers he had to draw upon. It may be worth considering a limit to the quantity the man may own."

"That's not a bad idea," Foster answered with a small laugh. "How many did he get fired off before you caught him?"

"Four. My apologies that it took me so long to subdue him. Arlo is rather… _spry_."

"Spry? That dwarf was hopping around like a frog!"

Fenris grinned, despite his injured lip. "Ah well, at least the day did not prove mundane."

Reclining his head, Foster moved the poultice back to his other eye. "I like a little mundane. If I didn't, I wouldn't live here," he commented with a sigh. "So, we never did get a chance to talk about the latest scuttle on Anders, and now it's getting late. Why not stay overnight? The wife and I would be honored to have you as our guest, and it would give us the opportunity to chat."

Fenris nodded, grateful for the invitation. "I would be most pleased to accept your offer, Captain. I find that today's excitement has drained me of all my energy."

"Then it's only fair that I give you a chance to recover! That settles it, we'll head home where my wife can stuff you full of tea and good food. We'll make sure you get a good night's rest," Foster stated, rising to his feet. "Daniels!" he called out to his aide, who quickly arrived inside the captain's office. "We're heading out for the day. We'll be at my home if there's anything urgent, otherwise, I'll see you for the morning brief."

"Yes, ser!" Daniels answered. He turned to Fenris. "Ser? It's fortunate you arrived, as another letter came for you," he said, passing to Fenris the letters that the Guard had been holding for Fenris.

"My thanks, Guardsman," Fenris replied, taking the thick envelope from the other man. He recognized Aveline's handwriting and the ornate seal of her office bound the packet together. "Good evening."

Daniels left the office and Foster gathered his things. "See? Told you the Maker had something to do with you being here today. Blimey, he even made sure your mail got here," the captain said with a laugh. "Come on, I never did get my lunch. Let's go and see what my sweet wife is cooking up."

"Lead on," Fenris replied, tucking the newest letter into his chest plate where the other unread letters were stowed before following his friend outside.

**xXx**

Hours had passed since the attack. Lorelai's injuries were now healed, though her contractions persisted. Fletcher worked diligently to keep the princess as still as possible, casting several sleep spells on her: doing so would let his repairs to injuries stabilize and the slumber allowed her to remain pain-free during the contractions.

Upon arriving at the palace, he'd healed her arm - having carefully bound it before they'd left the woods – and he'd then discreetly sent a request to his Aunt Bailey for potions and his staff. Once those items had arrived, he'd done everything in his power to keep Lorelai comfortable.

The prince had yet to leave the suite. He'd stayed close to his wife, even as his various advisors had arrived, each speaking in low, urgent tones with him. He'd quietly issued orders to some, had conferred with Lord Avery, and had signed a few documents, all while at his love's bedside.

Fletcher had initially felt sorry for the new ruler of Starkhaven, regretting that the man couldn't worry and pace over his wife and unborn child in peace. It struck him though, that while Fletcher had been working to heal her, word of the horrendous attack on the Vael family had likely spread, and the mage wondered how soon it would be before whoever was responsible for it learned the princess had lived.

Justice was swift, Fletcher knew, but a scared coward was likely just as speedy. The intrusion upon the prince's time with his bride had seemed a great deal more reasonable after that.

Now, though, there was nothing more to do than wait.

Quietly, Fletcher watched the princess, noting that her brow had furrowed slightly with the latest contraction. Standing from his chair beside her bed, he placed a hand gently upon her belly, sensing the position of the baby.

"What? Has something changed?" asked Sebastian, startling Fletcher from his task.

The prince, who'd silently been praying at a small altar in a corner of the large suite, appeared at the mage's elbow.

"No, although I thought I saw her react to a contraction."

"Meaning what? That she can feel them, now? Despite the sleep you've put her in?"

"I believe she may."

"That would mean they're gaining strength."

"Yes, I agree, but I'm not able to make a true assessment without a midwife's aid."

"Then we shall send for one," Sebastian said, turning and walking to the door. He opened it and quietly spoke to a guard outside and then returned to the bedside. "Marie – Lady Avery – is here. She'll send word to her midwife."

"Ah, yes, Margaret. She impressed me with her understanding of things and seemed well versed in her field," Fletcher complimented. "What's more, she was discreet, something I've always appreciated in others."

Sebastian's eyes didn't leave Lorelai's features. "Aye." He turned and crossed the room, opening the door to the hall, a servant appearing instantly. Sebastian spoke softly to the man, who quickly bowed and left. Returning to his wife's bedside, he took her limp hand into his own, placing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Fletcher, if she must be delivered, is she strong enough to do so?" he asked quietly, his hand caressing Lorelai's.

"I'd prefer to cast a restoration spell on her, to be certain of it, but she's not in any danger, if that's your concern, ser."

The prince's eyes fluttered closed, his features tight. "That's always my concern," he whispered so softly, Fletcher wasn't quite sure he'd even heard him. In a stronger voice, Sebastian asked. "Will you wake her?"

"Yes, once the midwife checks her and can estimate how quickly things may go. I see no reason to rouse her now, though, as I'd only be asking her to wake up and be in pain."

Nodding, Sebastian carefully lowered Lorelai's hand to the coverlet. He cleared his throat and turned to Fletcher. "We believe we may know who did this to her, to poor Goran. I will need to leave Lorelai for a few minutes, though I will be gone only as long as I must. Lady Avery will join you and stay with Lorelai until I return."

"Yes, of course."

"If anything changes, even the smallest thing, tell one of the servants, they'll send word."

Fletcher inclined his head and watched the prince hurry through a side door of the suite. Sighing, Fletcher knelt over Lorelai and touched his cool hand to her face, then gently checked her pulse.

"How is she?" asked a feminine voice from behind him.

Fletcher turned to see Marie Avery standing just a few feet away. His answer nearly slipped his lips, but he realized with a start that he was now – whether he wished to be or not – the Court's healer.

Regardless of how he'd come into his role, a sense of protectiveness blossomed inside his chest.

It occurred to him that the other aspects of his position were unknown to him. Everything he knew of the Vael family, of the previous princes and their courts, was chatter he'd overheard from his aunt and mother. Considering he'd been raised at the Circle in Ferelden, his chances to listen in on those particular conversations were far and few between. Yet the stories always had a common thread – the court of Starkhaven was one brutal power struggle after another.

He didn't know who the Vaels trusted and he didn't know what the prince's expectations would be of Fletcher's discretion. What he did know was that they'd taken a very real risk by bringing him into their lives and he resolved not to return their gamble with a violation of their faith in him.

He must guard his personal knowledge of this family carefully, something he suspected would be not only be required of him, but something which was suddenly very important to him.

Besides, he was a healer, not a politician. His answers should reflect this.

"That is a question best answered by the prince, Lady Avery," he finally replied. "I hope you'll understand."

Marie nodded. "I do and you're wise to be cautious, Ser Mage," she answered quietly, her eyes fixed upon her friend. "Being careful in one's words is an asset. Especially at court."

He studied her for a moment. "Are things so unscrupulous?"

"They are. It's how Starkhaven works, or rather, it was," she explained, her tone flat. "Sebastian and Lorelai aim to change all that. We'd like to do our best to help them." Marie frowned, pointing at Lorelai. "Is she alright?"

Fletcher turned to his patient, concerned to see her face twisted in pain, her breath coming in loud gasps. "Send someone for the prince," he ordered, returning to Lorelai's side.

**xXx**

Evening had settled over the tiny village and Captain Foster and his wife, a pretty woman named Mary, had made Fenris very comfortable in their home. A hot dinner was being cooked, and Foster and his bride were working contentedly together in the kitchen.

Mary had refused to allow Fenris to help, and had ushered him to the small but welcoming guest room in their home. There he'd been told to stay, encouraged by the friendly woman to relax and rest until their meal was ready.

And so he sat upon the end of the soft bed, his cuirass and other armor exchanged for the well-made clothes Olivia had packed for him. He stared down at the letters which awaited his attention.

His reading was something he worked on as often as he could, though he still struggled with more complicated texts. These letters were from his friends and would carry news of both Hawke and of home.

Though Kirkwall did not feel like home to him any longer.

No, home had become something altogether different to him, and he hoped, as he reached for the oldest of the letters, that his friends would understand.

He opened them one by one and spent the next half hour reading the missives. He found himself smiling at Varric's, the mixture of news mingled with a few jokes and a large helping of gossip, written in such a way that he could clearly hear the dwarf's voice. On the whole, however, Varric had very little information regarding Anders to report. The abomination, it seemed, had crossed into Tevinter, his activities uncertain.

There were two letters from Aveline, one which inquired of his health and updated him on the general activities and happenings within Kirkwall. She managed to weave multiple reminders that she disapproved of his decision to hunt Anders into it before its close. It was the second letter, the one which Guardsman Daniels had received just today, that had him scowling.

In it was a letter from Hawke, and Aveline's brief letter with it stirred his ire greatly.

_Fenris,_

_This arrived for you today and I'm sending it on with tonight's runners. I think it only fair to tell you I wrote to Hawke and told her you've left to follow our former companion. I expect she thinks even less of your hare-brained idea than I do._

_Be safe and come home,_

_Aveline_

He crumpled Aveline's letter in his hand, tossing it over his shoulder and onto the coverlet. Staring at the letter from Hawke, its seal unbroken and bearing the Vael family crest, he slowly picked it up, carefully cracking the waxen seal.

Standing, he moved to the small table near the bed, where a larger set of candles were lit and he began to read.

_Dearest Fenris,_

_I hope that this letter finds you safe and well. I understand from Aveline that you've embarked upon an ambitious journey? _

_I'm frightened for you._

_I've written this letter nearly a dozen times, trying to find the right words to say, but as I am still struggling and as this is the last piece of parchment I have, I've decided that eloquence, at least in this instance, is overrated. _

_Do you remember, so many years ago, when you asked me how one starts anew? We sat by your fire for most of that night, sharing stories from our lives, but then you asked me. My answer annoyed you, I could see it in your eyes. You'd hoped, I suspect, that I would impart some wisdom to you and I thought indignantly that I had._

_I owe you an apology for that._

_Starting over isn't entirely possible, I know that now. I think the phrase itself implies something of a clean slate, as if I can simply choose to change the circumstances of my life. As if everything that is ruined and sullied and lost will magically leave my mind and heart quietly, no fight or resistance. _

_How foolish I must have sounded to you._

_I cannot erase what has happened in my past any more than one could simply wipe a scar off of one's skin. I'm marked by my choices, we all are, but these marks are our own. They're private and personal. And mine remind me every day of not only who I was, but who I now wish to be. _

_These scars are mine and mine alone. I've earned them, and they're mine to learn from, mine to harness. I know that I need them, they're part of me. And I know that you cannot take them away, no matter that your efforts are borne of everything that is so very good about you. _

_I'm not afraid anymore. I'd forgotten what that feels like, and the peace in it. I don't think I've really known it since my father died. I have that here, in this place and with this man._

_I _see_ Sebastian now. I see his grace and his steady heart and I am so much better for it. I feel the life inside me growing and I know its future will be shaped by goodness and love. Sebastian's love and mine. _

_I will never forget, and I'm determined that I will learn from all of this. The things that happened in Kirkwall are finished for me. I beg you to let them be so for you, too. _

_Go home, Fenris. Please._

_I'll write more as soon as I am able and will post it to your address in Hightown. Please let me know where you are and, as always, be careful. _

_I miss you._

_Your friend,_

_Lorelai_

Fenris read the letter again, his mind and heart processing each word within. Folding the missive carefully, he laid it onto the small table and moved to his bed. Lying down, he folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the knots and details of the rough wood ceiling above him, waiting to be called to supper.

**xXx**

Sebastian arrived not long after he'd been summoned back to his wife's side, finding Fletcher, Marie and Marie's midwife, Margaret, with Lorelai. Margaret was concluding her exam as Sebastian entered the room and, glancing over her shoulder at him as she drew the bed sheet back over Lorelai's legs, turned to greet him.

"How is she?" he demanded as he paced by the bedside. "Is she safe? Is the bairn coming?"

"It is, your Highness," the midwife replied as she rose. "The contractions are steady but no' too strong. I'd say we're half way there, ser."

Sebastian shook his head, uncertain of what she was telling him. "Half way?"

"She's making nice progress, her pains are timely but no' yet powerful enough tae push the bairn into this world. Her waters are broken; things are goin' along as they should," Margaret explained. "It's a miracle after that crash she was in, but as far as I can see, she and the child are well. The babe is a good size too."

Marie observed how Sebastian's eyes narrowed at the mention of the crash and hurried forward. "Not quite a miracle," she interjected, gesturing to Fletcher. "He rode out with Sebastian and Cam, healed her before they returned. He's a wonderful healer."

"Divine intervention, then, but all the same, there will be a new Vael come sun up!" Margaret replied, smiling at Sebastian, who did not return it. Her smile slipped. "Ah, I'm very honored tae help yer bairn make his way into it, ser."

Sebastian, realizing his mood was making the midwife uneasy, inclined his head. "We're very grateful you're here, madam. Fletcher will be your aide tonight."

"Aye, we'll do well together, ser."

Fletcher bowed slightly to Margaret. "Indeed, we shall."

Sebastian ran his fingers through his chestnut hair, his tension apparent with the gesture. "Ye say that she'll be delivered by morning?"

Margaret glanced at Lorelai. "I believe so, though these things tend tae change. Bairns sometimes have a mind o' their own."

Marie studied Sebastian for a moment before moving to his side. "Margaret? Fletcher? Would you excuse us for a moment?" she asked. The others complied and Marie led Sebastian a few more steps away for privacy. "Sebastian? Are you all right?" she asked in a lowered voice.

His sharp blue eyes darted to hers, though he didn't answer.

Marie continued, concerned at his intensity. "I know that everything surrounding this birth – _this child_ – is complicated, but that is entirely separate from its actual delivery. _Lorelai is fine_. She's strong and her heart is yours. She has all that she needs and you've done what you can for them. Everything _will_ go properly."

He cleared his throat, his features taut. "That this even _happened_," he hissed, shaking his head. "Things are close, Cam believes we've got the bastards. We understand the scope of what happened tae her – tae Goran – today. I cannot describe how sickened I am, how _violent_ I feel."

She grasped his arm. "There's still time before they'll wake her. Go, find Cameron and see to the nasty business of today's tragedy, close the net on those vile people who tried to harm her and then return to your family. I will be here, I will not leave her side."

"Marie – "

"Take this time to destroy this threat. Let her awaken to you and to your assurances that those behind this are stopped."

He drew a shuddering breath. "I won't be far."

"And I will send word if you're needed. Return when you're certain your family is safe."

Sebastian's nostrils flared, a myriad of emotion on his face. "Thank you."

With one last glance at his sleeping wife, the Prince of Starkhaven left their suite, and Marie, sending a quick prayer to Andraste, returned to Lorelai's bedside.

**xXx**

The sky was full of stars, the moonless night allowing the twinkling vibrancy of the lights above Fenris to shine clearly. He was seated on an old stool outside of Captain Foster's home, his belly full of a flavorful stew, a glass of sweet wine in his hand.

"You're awfully quiet tonight."

Fenris turned to see Foster stepping through his front door. He approached and settled into the empty stool to Fenris's left.

"There a reason? Those letters, maybe? Is all well at home?"

The elf sighed, considering the unintended significance of his friend's words. "I believe that it is."

"You believe? What's that mean?"

"I'm not entirely sure, yet."

Foster arched an eyebrow. "Cryptic mood, eh?"

Fenris chuckled. "I had not intended to be cryptic, my friend. I am more… reflective."

"Ah. So I suppose that means I should ask just what you're reflecting on."

"Only if you truly _wish_ to know."

Foster grinned, shaking his head. "I'm listening."

Fenris sat forward on his stool, his elbows braced on his knees as he gazed up at the clear sky. "May I ask you a question?"

Foster shrugged. "Alright."

"How does one start over?"

"How do you mean? In life?" Foster asked, looking thoughtful when Fenris confirmed. "I guess the first thing you'd have to do is be through with the old one."

Fenris, his eyes still on the stars, nodded. "And if the choice was not your own? If the old one was taken from you and the circumstances were not of your own making? Then how?"

Foster studied the elf before arching an eyebrow. "Whose life are we talking about? Yours?"

"A friend's. A good friend who deserves a second chance."

"Did he get it? That second chance?"

The elf shifted, looking over at Foster. "I believe she did."

"Well, then my thinking would be the same. Get on with the new, leave the rest behind you, where it belongs."

"And if a person suffered regrets?"

Foster stood and slowly walked a few steps away, moving to lean against a nearby tree. "My gran used to say that if you did your best in the situation you were given, then that was all that anyone could ask or do. If you looked back on a thing, regretting the outcome, then you'd missed the point of it all."

"What, then, is the point?"

"Learn from it. So that next time your best is better. That _you're_ better."

"A wise grandmother."

"Sometimes," Foster agreed with a half-hearted smile. "She was a drunk at the end, so who knows, it coulda been the whiskey pontificating. Still, I suppose if you could learn something from whatever hell you've been through, it has a new purpose. It changes what it was, makes it less – "

"Worthless," Fenris rasped, his face betraying how troubled his heart was.

Foster, concerned for this man who he'd come to respect and like, watched Fenris for a moment and realized that their conversation was far from easy for his friend. Rapping his knuckles against a tree branch, he cleared his throat. "You've been through the wringer and you're due some good rest. Maybe it's best I let you get to bed, leave these thoughts for another time."

Fenris stood and came to Foster's side. "Wait, please. I did not mean to… " the elf said quickly, then his words tapered off as his brow furrowed. "My friend, it seems that she is content in her new life. Her feelings are that she is becoming who she was intended to be."

Foster nodded. "Is this friend why you're out here?" The captain smiled slightly at Fenris's startled look. "It's alright, Fenris, Captain Vallen explained to me that you're not _actually_ in the Guard."

Blinking slowly, Fenris felt the tips of his ears heat as embarrassment at being caught in his lies fired through him. "Captain Foster, please accept my most sincere apology. It was not my intent to abuse my – "

"Don't," Foster said quickly, cutting off Fenris's words. "She told me you were investigating things, trying to piece together how Anders survived, that sort of thing. So, then I did a little sleuthing, and I realized just _who_ you were, who you were known to run around with in Kirkwall. I imagine, given the circumstances, I'd tell a few tales myself, if I'd been through what you and your friends had."

The elf met the human's gaze. "I apologize for my deception."

"No apology needed. I just hope that if someone I cared about was in the kind of danger Champion Hawke was in that I'd have the balls to do the same as you."

"Thank you."

"From what I hear, though, the Champion is married and settled in Starkhaven."

Fenris offered a small smile. "She is. I have had a letter from her: she is happy and well. She urges me to return to Kirkwall."

"You mean she 'urges' you to end the hunt."

"I believe so, yes."

"The phrase 'Life goes on' comes to mind. Is this why you're being so quiet? She's asked you to call it a day?"

"I am confused by my feelings in this."

"Ah," Foster said.

"Ah?" Fenris repeated, looking at his human friend. "What do you mean by 'ah'? I've not explained to you my confusion."

"You're not sure you're ready to stop the search, even though she's asking you to."

The elf nodded. "I _am_ gratified that Hawke is safe, that she is content. She wishes me to seek my own contentment. This request is a good thing and yet I hesitate. Should I not be pleased? Should I not race back to Kirkwall?"

"Yes. So why are you sitting in my garden, brooding?" the captain asked, his tone gentle. "What's holding you back?"

"Anders has _not_ paid for his crimes," Fenris spat, his eyes flashing in anger. "He murdered dozens. He loosed apostates upon this land, apostates who will assuredly resort to the most disgusting of means to retain their freedom!"

"Yup."

"He used her, twisted her around his little finger! He made a fool of her, a mockery of her good name! Parading around Kirkwall, his arrogance knew no bounds as he hid behind _her_ courage, _her_ honor! He claimed to be our friend, he claimed to be one of _us_! But I saw him for the charlatan he is, I warned her he was little more than a killer! We all did and look what came to pass!" he seethed, his hands balled into fists. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Yet now she wishes to act as if nothing has happened, everything is back in its place. How can I allow this to occur?"

"Fenris? Why you were out here looking for Anders in the first place?"

Fenris locked his gaze with Foster's. "To protect Hawke."

Foster shook his head. "If it was as short an answer as _that_, then we wouldn't be having this discussion," he replied, stepping back to his home. "What you need to understand is _why_ you've placed this burden so squarely on your own shoulders, especially when the person who should be carrying it is askin' you to put it down. Answer that, and then you'll know what to do."

**xXx**

Sebastian sat a few feet away from the bed that held his laboring wife. He'd returned not long ago, just as dawn had begun to break. Cameron, and the few men that Sebastian trusted, were at that very moment executing a multitude of arrest warrants. By day's end, the rest of the plot against his family would be fully destroyed. All would be well, he mentally assured himself, but he still struggled to contain his fear. Lorelai had nearly been murdered, and Goran lost.

"All will be well," he muttered to himself, his eyes on his wife's features as he stood. The delivery would go as it should and the worst was behind them. He would not allow his anxiety to prevail over his faith.

She was beautiful to him, even now – her hair disheveled, her skin flushed – he admired the sculpted curve of her cheekbones. He studied the shape of her swollen body, the smallness of her frame, and he swallowed hard, willing away the vivid memories of Marie's horrific delivery.

His eyes moved to the new court healer and he sighed, knowing the man's skill had already been proven. Fletcher and Margaret agreed it was time to awaken Lorelai, her injuries fully healed and the progress of her labor sufficient enough that her participation would soon be required.

"Will you rouse her now?" he asked in a strong voice, drawing Fletcher's attention.

The mage met his gaze. He'd been organizing a small area dedicated to ensuring he'd be prepared to handle any possible crisis during the labor. His staff was set to the side, along with several healing potions, poultices and vials of lyrium. He gestured to them, a small smile on his face. "Do me a favor and don't ask where those came from," he said as he joined the prince at the princess's bedside. "As to your question, ser, I can wake her now, she's ready."

Sebastian's brow furrowed. "Will she be in pain?"

"Not from her injuries, no ser, those are fully healed. She'll experience the pain of the labor, though."

Nodding, Sebastian moved to Lorelai, taking her limp hand into his own. "She expected that, she knows that all women must endure it."

"Then as long as Margaret is prepared, I see no reason we can't bring her out of her sleep." Fletcher paused, seeming to study Sebastian. "I must ask you though, are _you_ ready for the princess to awaken?"

Sebastian felt a spike of indignation and his eyes were flashing as he met the mage's eyes. "Of _course_ I am."

Fletcher inclined his head, sensing the distraught man had misunderstood the point of his query. "What I mean, ser, is that when she wakes, she'll have no memory of most of today. She'll recall nothing from the moment after I first cast her to sleep in the woods. She will be disoriented, and will very likely awaken in the grips of the emotions she was experiencing when we found her."

The prince looked at his still-peaceful wife. "She'll be afraid," he said softly, remembering the horrific sounds of her screams before he'd finally reached her.

"Terrified, and more than likely, she'll believe her life – and that of the babe – to still be in real danger. When she opens her eyes, she'll be in a very different place mentally than she is physically. It will be overwhelming, especially if she doesn't sort it all out before a contraction hits her. She will _need_ you, in every way that a person needs the one they love."

Sebastian nodded and moved past Fletcher to the bed, his long fingers grazing Lorelai's brow. "Margaret? Are ye ready to care for my bride and bairn?" he called out, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

"Aye, ser, I am."

"Fletcher, please ask Marie tae join us again. Lorelai will find her a great comfort."

The mage bowed slightly and moved to the suite's door, opening it and gesturing once. Marie immediately entered the room, her countenance calm, and her features serene. She offered a small smile to Sebastian and joined him on the opposite side of Lorelai's bed.

Sebastian moved to Lorelai, so he was seated against her, pressed his lips to her flushed cheek. "Wake her, Fletcher. I'll keep her safe."

**_Thank you, Lisa for the booting and the double beta :)_**

**_Thanks for reading! I hope y'all know how much I appreciate each review, alert and favorite. THANK YOU!_**

**_And a cyber high five if you spot the references to the best sci-fi world of all time..._**


	38. Grace

_**Hey there! **_

_**First, thank you to Lisa for another awesome beta, she is the very best! Second, thank you everyone for the reviews of the last chapter! Here's the ending of that cliffhanger I left y'all on. I truly hope that it's fluffy enough to cushion the fall :)**_

_**Thank you, again. I love 'hearing' from everyone and I very much appreciate all the feedback and comments. **_

**Grace**

Lorelai screamed as she came awake, her wail of pain sounding almost feral to her husband.

"Lorelai!" Sebastian cried, holding her as she swung out, ready to fight.

"Bugger!" Fletcher cursed, his features reflecting his concern for his patient as he snatched up a wet cloth. He picked up a small vial and carefully dribbled a few drops on the cloth while Sebastian continued to call her name. The poor woman finally opened her eyes, her green orbs wild with fear.

"Darlin'! Stop!" the prince shouted, as he pinned one of her fisted hands onto the bed. He grasped her chin with his free hand, forcing her eyes to his own. "Lorelai! _Look_ at me! It's over! You're safe!"

She choked back another cry and the misery in her features lessened as her mind registered Sebastian's presence.

"Shh, it's me, shh," he crooned, stroking her cheek. "You're home. It's over."

She shook her head. "Goran," she whispered, her countenance becoming urgent as she understood her surroundings. "Seb? Goran needs help!"

"Darlin', the attack – "

"We have to go!" she interrupted, nodding quickly. "I… I couldn't… I didn't have a weapon and Goran's hurt! He's alone!"

"Lorelai, my love – "

"And those men came and there was nothing I could do!" Her features twisted as she struggled for control. "Goran yelled to them, Seb, he drew them away from me!"

"Goran is gone, Darlin', he's at peace," Sebastian explained softly but her words caught his attention and his tone changed. "Are you telling me he protected you?"

"He's dead?"

"Aye."

She nodded, her chin trembled as she spoke. "Poor Goran, he saved me. I had a chance to hide because he distracted them."

Fletcher watched as the prince processed the princess's account of the attack. It was hard to miss the hardened glint that shone in the famous Vael eyes, and Fletcher glanced at Marie, who also seemed to be watching the couple.

Sebastian caressed his wife's cheek. "Goran's bravery lent me the time to find you. I killed the bastard that hurt you and the other men are dead. We know who did this and they will be dealt with. No one will threaten mine own again, all of Thedas will know not to come at us when this is over, Darlin', do you understand me?"

She closed her eyes and shuddered. "It's my fault he's dead, the assassins were after _me_ – "

"_No_. Do you remember the missing money? They must have known we were closing in, they wanted to cow me," he hissed. "Those men killed Goran, and they tried to kill you to get to me."

Lorelai studied him but before she could reply, drew a sharp breath. "Ah!"

"Here!" Fletcher called out, holding out the wet rag, offering it to Sebastian. "I've put lavender oil on it, it's soothing," he explained before turning to Lorelai. "Your Highness, do you remember me? I'm Fletcher, the healer, and you're in labor. Yes, it's early, but the midwife is here and we both agree the child is faring well. I kept you asleep for as long as I could. I'm sorry that I cannot ease the pains."

Lorelai was locked in the contraction, her hands twisting in the sheets at her side until the spasm began to relax. Panting, she leaned against Sebastian.

"I'm sorry," he was whispering to his wife as Margaret approached.

"It's too soon," Lorelai replied, her voice weak. She looked to the mage at her bedside. "Fletcher?"

"My lady, I assure you, your baby will be fine. Don't be afraid."

"You're in very good hands, too," Marie added, grinning kindly. "It's wonderful to see you awake, Lorelai. You gave us all a scare."

Lorelai returned the smile. "Well then, I suppose we're even, aren't we?" she teased before speaking to Fletcher. "Did you help me? I remember my arm was broken and I'm sure I had other injuries."

"Fletcher rode with me, love," her husband shared.

The mage inclined his head to the princess. "I did heal your arm, among other things. It's why I can assure you that you and the baby are fine."

"Your Highness," Margaret began, "I'd like tae check ye, tae check the bairn. The pains are coming closer together now, so I must see tae ye as quick as I can."

Marie stepped close to the bed as Lorelai gave her consent to Margaret. "The checking isn't so bad, just uncomfortable," she assured her friend. "You do remember what we spoke of? How to ride out the pains?"

"Yes, but Maker's balls, that hurt," Lorelai declared before she realized she'd cursed. "Forgive me, I shouldn't forget myself."

"That's _exactly_ what you should do," Fletcher argued with a cheeky grin. "Yell the bloody roof down if you need to, who are we to judge? After all, none of us have a child to shove through a keyhole."

"Quite so," Marie agreed with a nod. "Besides, the Maker blessed you with the baby, I'd think it rude if you didn't make sure He hears of its arrival."

Sebastian sat back, watching his bride with concern as Lorelai and Marie chuckled. He was grateful for Fletcher and Marie's attendance, as both of them were kind and seemed determined to make Lorelai feel at ease. He closed his eyes and used the distraction their banter afforded him, willing himself to clamp down the fury that was burning inside his chest.

The extent of the efforts against him were complex and thorough. That the villains were willing to murder his family – and as the evidence seemed to suggest, had helped orchestrate other slayings of those close to him – was something he could barely restrain himself from answering immediately. He knew that the trial facing Lorelai, and that of their unborn child, was also directly due to the bastards' actions.

Despite Fletcher and Margaret's confidence in the size of the bairn, Sebastian knew that this child was arriving earlier than the Maker had intended. The worry for the baby, the anger that he'd not protected his wife as he'd sworn, was nearly more than he could bear.

Margaret completed her exam and drew the sheet back over the princess's legs, patting the woman's ankle as she stood.

"Right as rain, my lady," she announced with a satisfied look. "The bairn will be here soon and everything is as it should be."

"Soon?" Lorelai repeated.

"Aye, my lady, he'll be joining us for our midday meal, I believe!"

"Thank you," Sebastian said, dismissing the midwife and taking his wife's hand into his, placing a kiss to her knuckles.

Margaret bobbed a curtsy and excused herself as Marie and Fletcher made eye contact and stepped away at the same moment. The new couple needed their privacy.

"Seb?" Lorelai asked in a soft voice. "Thank you for coming after me." His vivid eyes held hers as she continued. "I'm sorry you had to."

"No one will threaten you or our family again, on that you have my word," he growled. "It stops _here_. Cam and I have them, Lorelai. Goran is the last Vael that will die by their hands."

"Goran is the last Vael to… Sebastian? Are you saying this is somehow related to your parents' murders?" she asked and then grimaced. Another contraction was building. "Seb, please, tell me."

"We must see to your pain," he replied, taking back up the rag that Fletcher had given him earlier.

"Sebastian," she grunted. "I thought the Harimanns were guilty?"

"Aye, and now we believe we know how Lady Harimann managed to reach them all, who helped her coordinate the mercenaries. They _will_ account for their crimes. The Vael name will protect you as it should. The line that was crossed will _never_ be crossed again."

"You… ah!" She paused, blowing quick breaths. He held her hand as she blew slowly. "You did today," she finished as the contraction ended. "You protected us today, like you always have."

"No, Darlin', I didn't. But I will, I swear to Holy Andraste that I _will_."

**xXx**

Sebastian paced outside his suite, his ears straining to pick up every sound from within. He would walk, pause, listen, walk, pause, turn, listen, all while ignoring his best friend Cameron's chuckles.

"Why do you keep giggling?" he demanded of his oldest friend. "You sound like a school girl!"

"Aye, well, that may be, pal, but you're pacing like a worried woman," Cameron replied with a grin. "Look at ye, you're a bloody wreck!"

"Stuff it, Cam," Sebastian grumped, resuming his pacing.

"Strong words there, 'stuff it'. Have a care of this wee lassie's feelings," he teased, standing from the chair he'd been seated in. "Or at least a care for that antique carpet that's been trod into oblivion. Come on, sit down!"

The prince stopped and crossed his arms, looking stern.

Cam offered his friend a sympathetic grin and draped his arm over his shoulder. "Listen, pal, what happened is over, we've got the bastards an' they canna run, can they?"

Sebastian looked up at Cameron and drew a long breath. "No."

"And Fletcher, the very same man who put ma own beautiful wifey back together, isn't he right there next tae Lorelai? Ready tae cast whatever it is he casts tae fix folks back up?"

"Aye."

"Then take a bit o' advice from a man who's a da a few times over, a man who can share a bit o' wisdom with ye, alright?" Sebastian hesitated but finally nodded and Cameron continued. "In just a few more minutes, your entire world will be different and ye will ken what it is tae have your heart walkin' about outside of your body. And that heart of yours will either be your boy – Maker help the future women of the Marches – or it will be a lass, in which case then Maker help us _all_."

"What are you haverin' on about, Cameron? A daughter would be a blessing!" Sebastian protested, frowning fiercely. "It's been – "

"Pal, have ye no' _looked_ at your woman? She's a very bonny lass," Cameron interrupted. "Feisty too. So let us imagine a daughter who will likely have the looks o' her ma? With ye as her da? All bullheaded and charming? Thedas had best make ready."

Finally, to Cameron's relief, Sebastian cracked a smile. "Aye, Lorelai can be a force to reckon with, when she's a mind to be."

"That she can. Now, are ye ready tae hear my advice, pal? Come with me, let's have us a stiff shot o' whiskey and toast the end o' the world as ye ken it."

"And after?"

"We'll toast the arrival o' the greatest gift the Maker will ever bless ye with," he added, looking thoughtful. "I've never been able tae decide if it's a marvel or pure madness that such a tiny thing – one that looks like a auld bald man an' will break wind just as often – will become the most precious thing in your life, but there it is."

Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed. "I nearly lost them today, Cam," he said softly.

"I ken. It wasn't too long ago that I was shakin' in my own boots, realizing how close death had come tae my door. It was hard for me tae trust that it was settled, that my family was safe… " he paused, shifted his stance and nodded. "Lorelai's _safe_, Sebastian. She's going tae be fine, she'll deliver the bairn an' in a bit ye will be holding your healthy child. Don't let those bastards take that from ye _or_ from her! The road tae today has been too bloody long tae let that happen."

The prince nodded and Cam continued. "Set aside your wrath for now, take it up again when it's time, aye?"

"Aye." Sebastian released a long, slow breath. "That's braw advice, my friend."

"Will ye be takin' it then?"

"I will," the prince answered, emotion heavy in the word. His eyes moved to the closed door of his suite. "I should be with her, Cam. I'd always imagined I would, I promised it to her."

"And she's the one tha' threw ye out, so what's a man tae do?" Cam asked before holding up his forefinger. "Aha! I know! Respect your bride's wishes by honoring them with a toast."

"Back to the whiskey, are you?"

"I never left it, pal, it's ye that's being a jessie about it."

Sebastian snorted but his reply was cut off by a strangled and drawn out cry of pain, heard clearly through the door. He hurriedly crossed to it and reached to open it.

"Pal, I dinnae if that's the best idea, Lorelai was – " Cameron began but stopped, rolling his eyes when Sebastian opened the door.

"_Out_! Get out!" shouted Lorelai from within, and Cameron grinned as the prince stopped in his tracks, not daring to go any further. The tall gentleman held back a laugh as she then screamed, "Maker's balls, Sebastian Vael, go! No- ow!"

Nodding, his eyes large as saucers, Sebastian backed up two steps and promptly shut the door.

"Come on, pal," Cam said, strolling past. "Whiskey's this way."

**xXx**

"That's it, my lady! _Push_!" encouraged Margaret from her end of the bed. "Five, four, three – don't stop! – two, one! Well done, very well done!" she cheered before she called over her shoulder to the court healer. "We're nearly there! Fletcher! Be ready, lad! It's crowning!"

Fletcher waited patiently just a few feet away. "I'm right here, Margaret, as I was just a few minutes ago. I won't go anywhere, I promise," he answered with a small smile. It was refreshing to see someone else who was as passionate about care and healing as he, but it seemed the midwife wasn't going to just deliver the baby, she would narrate the event as well.

"Oh my! Aye! Here's another one comin'!" she announced, patting Lorelai's leg. "Use it, ma dear! Give us a nice solid push! Fletcher? Are ye there?"

"I'm right here, ma'am," Fletcher answered again, this time placing his hand onto the woman's shoulder. "See? Not too far."

"Keep at it, lass! Just a bit more! Aye! Hello tae ye!" Margaret bubbled happily as the bairn's head cleared its mother's body. "Come on, my wee one, come out an' meet yer ma! Push, my lady!"

Lorelai's face was twisted with pain. "Will you stop telling me to push? I _know_ when to push! Oh, bloody hell, ah!" She groaned, the next contraction interrupting her briefly. "Ah!" she cried, grabbing at Marie, who was helping to prop her up from behind. "Marie Avery! You are a _liar_!"

"I know, sweetheart, I'm the very worst," Marie agreed in a soothing tone. "I'd never forgive me, if I were you."

Lorelai panted. "And I _won't_! You said the pain wasn't so – ah! _Shit_!" she cried, turning her full focus to her need to push with the latest contraction.

"Och! It's the shoulders, my lady, it's always the blasted shoulders!" Margaret called out sympathetically but then broke into a magnificent grin. "But it's well worth it! For here ye are, it's a wee lassie! Welcome! Welcome!" she exclaimed as the baby slipped free of her mother. "Aren't ye a bonny thing! Fletcher!"

Fletcher, who was, as he'd promised, standing right behind Margaret, quickly cut the umbilical cord before scooping the babe up from the midwife's arms so she could deliver the placenta.

Quickly he swaddled the baby at the foot of the bed, rubbing her with a cloth, and then clearing the mucus from her nose and mouth. The stimulating motion soon drew the first sounds from the newborn.

"Not the strongest of cries, but it's a fine start," he whispered sweetly to the baby. "And you're the prettiest little wrinkly thing I've ever seen. You're early though, very unlike a woman, so let's have a proper look at you," he crooned as he quickly assessed her condition. Her cry grew a bit stronger and she pinked-up perfectly as she drew stronger breaths.

Certain she was well despite her early arrival, he cradled her close and glanced at her mother. "Bet you're dying to know what mum looks like on the outside, aren't you? Let's go and find out."

Lorelai, finished with the delivery, was resting as Margaret and Marie hurried to begin cleaning up the soiled sheets and cloths. Both women paused as Fletcher carried the baby to her waiting mother.

"Is she alright?" Lorelai asked as she reached up to take her daughter. "Oh, she's so tiny. I can't believe she's really mine," she whispered, cradling the baby close. "Hello. Oh my, it seems like we waited for you for so long."

Fletcher stepped back and nodded. "She's in very good health. You did well."

"She's beautiful, Lorelai," Marie observed, her fingers gently brushing the baby's crown. "Shall I go and get Sebastian?"

Lorelai looked up at Fletcher. "Everything's fine? You're certain?"

"Perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes."

Margaret beamed. "The Maker was with her, she's little, aye, but she's no runt in the least. She'll do just fine."

The princess smiled. "Then yes, Marie, if you would get Seb, that would be wonderful."

**xXx**

The thing about babies, Fletcher thought as he picked up his satchel and staff, was their ability to pull the whole world toward them. It reminded him of how the moons chased the sun across the sky, or a moth drawn to a candle.

He was guilty of it himself. The silly cooing tone he adopted whenever a babe or toddler was in his care was hardly planned, but it seemed beyond his control. A baby could instantly turn the very gruffest and most vicious of warriors into a soft spoken and smiling loon.

Maybe all babies start as mages?

He grinned at that idea, imagining the Chantry's reaction to it. There was a little magic, at least, because it was an amazing thing, how a baby wrapped a person around their little finger without even knowing what a finger was.

Turning, he'd intended to offer his good night to the prince and princess, but the the scene in front of him was too personal to interrupt.

Sebastian Vael, a royal prince, a warrior, a man of faith and easily one of most powerful people in Thedas, was already dangling from his daughter's pinky. Curled into the bed, his wife dozing against his side, the man was cradling his tiny child with a look of absolute adoration shining in his eyes.

"Yes. Magic," Fletcher muttered, a soft smile on his lips.

Hesitating, lest he be rude, he considered whether or not to wait and draw the prince's attention to his departure. His care of the princesses was finished, at least for now, and there really wasn't a reason for him to linger. All things considered, he doubted that Sebastian would take any offense at the mage quietly slipping out, yet he was finding it hard to leave.

He snorted, rubbing his face. There seemed to be a running theme here, he realized, but it was time for that baby's spell to be broken. He needed sleep.

He'd been awake since yesterday morning, a morning he'd started earlier than usual as he'd wanted to decline the position of Court Healer and still have a full day's light ahead if he'd needed to run from irate templars. The events after this were a bit of a blur at the moment, but of one thing he was certain: he was now a member of the Vael household.

Thinking on this, he remembered realizing earlier that he had no idea what that actually meant. Did he get paid? And where was he expected to be, did he have a place within the palace where he'd reside or was he to come to court only as needed? Just how would a position such as his work, anyway?

That bench he'd been waiting on yesterday morning had been rather comfortable. Maybe…

"Fletcher," came a voice from beside him, startling him from his thoughts. He turned quickly and saw a well-made doublet. Following its stitching upward he discovered it was the very tall Lord Avery who was speaking to him.

"Good evening, Ser," Fletcher replied politely, his fatigue heavy in his voice.

"I was thinking that ye may be interested in learning just what it is ye signed on tae."

"That," Fletcher began, suppressing a yawn, "would be helpful."

"Come on then, man, let's leave these two tae their contentment, shall we?" Cameron said, leading the mage out into the hall, where he turned to speak again. "I'm not truly sure what Sebastian had in mind for the benefits tae your post, but I do ken how exhausted how ye must be. If you're willing, I've made arrangements for a room where ye can eat and have a good sleep. Unless ye would prefer tae go tae your home? I can offer ye transport, at the very least."

"I can leave?"

Cameron seemed surprised by the question. "Well, of course, man. Why would we think otherwise?"

Fletcher paused, blinking slowly. "I, ah, I suppose I thought… " he sighed, shaking his head. "Well, I don't know what I thought."

Cameron studied him and, crossing his arms, leaned in so his words wouldn't carry. "Mrs. Hutchinson is your auntie, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"She practically raised me and Seb, and she's had more than a hand in the rearin' of my own brood. I love your auntie and I'd never do a thing tae hurt her. Now, as we've got something in common, and no' forgetting ye saved my wife no' so long ago, I hope you'll take me at my word when I tell ye that this palace is no Circle. There are no templars here."

Fletcher met Cameron's gaze evenly and nodded once. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Well? What's it tae be? Bed or buggy?"

Smiling softly, the mage ran a hand through his curly brown hair. "A bed, Lord Avery. I'd be very grateful for a bed."

**xXx**

Varric slowly opened one heavy eyelid and watched Aveline from the opposite side of their fire, the flames dancing in and out of his line of vision. It was late, very late, and he'd been hoping to get a few hours of sleep. They'd been on the move all day, just as they had the day before. With any luck, and if the weather held, they'd be within Starkhaven's borders by sunset tomorrow.

And he'd be in a soft bed right after dinner.

They'd been busting their tails for two full days and would face another grueling day tomorrow. Yet Aveline sat just a few feet away, sharpening her blade with a stone, her bedroll rolled and her armor still on. He watched her slowly drag the stone down the blade again and his annoyance got the better of him. The sound of the metal against the rock was irritating on its own, but this? He needed to sleep.

"Ah, Red? Remember me mentioning that I wanted to get forty winks in? I didn't think I needed to tell you I'd hoped to get them sequentially, but I did."

Aveline glanced in his direction but didn't cease her efforts to sharpen her blade. The dwarf rolled his eyes before sitting up, wrapping his arms around his knees and clasping his hands.

"What gives? I believe you spent most of last night sharpening that thing. In fact, I _know_ you did because it kept me up then too." Again, Aveline didn't reply, so Varric sighed and reclined again, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Alright, fine, have it your way, Red. Tomorrow you can find out how well exhaustion and sharp things go together. Just don't ask me to bandage you up – I'll be too tired."

The scraping noise paused but resumed a moment later.

"Varric? Do you think we should be doing this?"

"Doing what?" he replied, not moving.

"This."

He sat up again. "Aveline. I've been riding a horse that's an entire body length taller than me for the last two days. I'm _tired_. Know why? Because after the hours of riding in that man-parts crushing saddle of mine, one of my traveling companions seems to suffer from insomnia, _again_. So humor me and answer the question, okay? _Doing what_?"

"We're going to Starkhaven with no warning sent ahead. What if doing so somehow creates a hole in Lorelai's story?"

"What story?"

"Her story, the one about how and why she left Kirkwall. What if our arrival creates a problem? Have you considered that?"

Varric rubbed his eyes and laid back down. "Aveline, she and Sebastian need to know what's happening right under their noses. The idea that they don't know scares the shit out of me."

"Yes, but we sent Donnic and Walter ahead. They have the information that Sebastian needs and are likely there already. If half of Kirkwall suddenly arrives on the palace doorstep, don't you think people are bound to ask why?"

"It's _five_ people, Red. And he's the prince, people will talk about Sebastian no matter what he's doing. Getting visitors from his old stomping grounds isn't exactly a scandal."

"That's exactly my point though, Varric. Our visit will hardly go unnoticed."

There was a loud moan to Varric's right and he leaned toward Merrill who was sleeping. He adjusted her blanket and lowered his voice, not wishing to disturb his sleeping friend.

"Okay, listen. I can see what you're saying. I don't want draw extra attention to things connected to Kirkwall either, but there's no way around the fact that they're in very real danger and don't know it. Yes, Donnic went ahead, but this thing was buried so deep down that neither of us had a clue it was out there, so we don't know what we don't know. What if these bastards are watching us? If so, they know who Donnic is and maybe they'll realize the jig is up. Following Donnic and Walter was spur of the moment, yes, but it's a smart move and you know it."

Aveline pursed her lips and nodded slightly. "I know."

"So why are you really sitting up all night – again – keeping me awake if you know?"

She shrugged, sighing as she finally laid her blade to the side. "She's happy. She's finally happy Varric, perhaps even the happiest I've ever known her to be. And frankly, after all that woman has been through, I'll be damned if our panic is the cause of any new trouble."

He arched an eyebrow and nodded. "I can understand Aveline, I really can. But last time we tiptoed around what we should have done, more worried about her feelings than facts, a lot of people ended up dead."

"Facts? Varric, none of us knew what Anders had planned!"

"No, not the big picture, of course not. But we all knew he'd gone over the edge, damn it, I even had extra people watching the clinic hoping to figure out what was happening. You warned her, Choir Boy warned her, and hell, Fenris even threatened the son of a bitch, but obviously we didn't do enough."

"We didn't know what Anders was capable of. Not truly."

"And I truly won't underestimate the bad guys ever again. I will do enough _this_ time and the gossips can bite my ass."

She snorted, a small smile on her face. "Alright, Dwarf," she finally said softly. She unrolled her bedroll and took off her chest plate, setting it near her.

Varric settled back down, sighing at the pleasant sound of nothing disturbing his sleep.

"Varric?"

"No, I'm sleeping."

"It's your watch."

"Aveline?"

"Yes?"

"Good _night_."

**xXx**

Sebastian felt Lorelai stir against him and he looked down to see her smiling up at him. He was seated with his back against the headboard of their bed, the tiny sleeping newborn cradled in the crook of his arm.

"Hi," Lorelai whispered, snuggling against him.

"Hello," he replied softly. "Are you in pain?"

"A little. I'm mostly sore, but I'll be fine. Who have you got there?" she asked, slowly sitting up and then scooting close. "Anyone special?"

He smiled. "Aye. The love of my life."

"You're mine," Lorelai whispered against his ear, kissing him. Reaching out, she laid a hand gently upon her sleeping daughter. "Oh, Seb, she's so little, but she's perfect. Her eyes are blue."

His brow furrowed slightly. "Lorelai, she has beautiful eyes, but they may change color. Our bonny lass may have green ones, like her mother."

"Or brown," she replied in a small voice, before tucking her arm under his and sighing.

"Regardless, Darlin', my daughter needs a name."

He felt her squeeze his arm before she answered. "She does. I'm guessing you've thoughts on one?"

"I've been thinking on it."

"It's not Carp, is it?"

Laughing softly, he shook his head. "No, no it's definitely not. She'll be the first Princess of Starkhaven to rule by right in quite a while, nearly five generations. I think, given that, that one in the Old Tongue would suit."

"I'm not naming her Morag, Sebastian."

Again he chuckled. "Morag? That's a good, solid name, but no. I was hoping you would like the name Siana."

"Siana? It's pretty."

"Aye, though not as bonny as Morag."

"Or Carp, but that one's taken. Siana… Siana," she said quietly, seeming to mull the name with her tongue. "You said it's Old Tongue? What does it mean?"

"The Maker is gracious," he replied, tracing his thumb across the baby's brow. "And He is, Lorelai. When I think of everything that has happened to you, to the great goodness that has come from all the pain… grace abounds in our life together."

"It does." She leaned closer and searched his eyes. "I'm sorry about Goran."

"He proved himself a good man in the end, didn't he?" he asked softly, sadness in his voice. "He kept you safe. He kept you both safe. I cannot imagine if… he'd not… Darlin', it's nearly more than I can think on."

Reaching out, she placed her hand against his cheek, the stubble of his unshaven face rough against her small hand. "Siana is perfect, Seb, absolutely perfect."

His vivid blue eyes shone with unshed tears as he cradled his wife and daughter close.

"Yes, she is."


	39. Knuckles Down

_**Hi all!**_

_**Few things here, first of all, thank you to my beta, Lisa, for, well, everything. See, things for me have been sort of one chaotic event to another since the middle of October. I've had a lot of personal drama from medical to familial events to a few self-inflicted things squeezed in-between. And that's why this chapter has taken from FREAKIN' ever to write, but that why Lisa is awesome. She's listened to, lifted up, called, emailed and supported at all costs, even when she's had a full plate of her own. So, thank you, Lisa, for being one of the most generous humans walking. Everyone should be so lucky as to have a Lisa in their lives.**_

_**And a selfish author's note too. I have a huge and winding theory about what Dragon Age Inquisition will actually be about, and this story's main arc (which is in like two chapters) is based on that. So, I'm putting it all on that table here shortly, lol, and we'll see if I'm a nut or if I've figured this thing out (I saw you sneak out there Larius, I'm onto you I think). But we'll see, could be I'm just a nut :-)**_

_**Reunion of Kirkwall Class of 9:37 is next! Woot!**_

**Knuckles Down**

Sebastian signed the last of a stack of parchments and dropped his quill, standing quickly from his chair and walking to a door near his desk.

The sun was just beginning to rise. He stepped outside into the small garden adjacent to his private office and drew a long, deep breath. The smell of earth and dew filled his senses and he closed his eyes, listening as the world around him slowly roused itself. Opening them again, he saw the sun was climbing into the sky and the sounds of dozens of birds disturbed the last of the silence.

A new day had begun, the first new day for his daughter. He sighed, scrubbing his face, lamenting that his daughter's first full day of life would also seal the demise of several others.

During Lorelai's labor and delivery, those first precious hours after Siana's birth, Cameron and Henry – Sebastian's trusted private secretary – had successfully acquired the confessions of one of the key participants in the plot against their prince. Once this was made, Sebastian had reason to allow the search of the homes and businesses of several otherwise unsuspected individuals.

Events escalated quickly.

Sebastian had left his wife and daughter resting shortly after midnight only to find Cameron had been waiting to see him. Presented with the names and additional evidence obtained from the questionings, Sebastian consented to the arrests of five others with proof against them. By sunrise, one confession had grown to three, and six arrests had increased to nine.

In a few days the Court would announce the names of those caught in the conspiracy against the royal family and ultimately the murder of the reigning prince, Goran Vael. The executions would begin shortly thereafter and the two men who had employed the assassins would be dead by week's end. Sebastian only prayed that the number of those who must die was a count he could stomach, though he would not hesitate, regardless of the final numbers.

Hesitation would be perceived as reluctance, and reluctance as weakness. If other enemies felt that the Prince of Starkhaven could be bullied or maneuvered to suit their purposes, then today's arrests wouldn't be the last. He would continue to face such plots if he did not unreservedly demonstrate that subterfuge against his rule would be met with the harshest of punishments.

It would never end. Not for his family, or for his people.

No, weakness was an image neither he nor his people could afford. The traitors must all perish and their deaths must occur swiftly.

"Good mornin', pal," said Cameron from just inside Sebastian's office. The tall man moved to stand at the threshold between the garden and the office, dark circles of fatigue under his eyes. "I was wondering if ye would like tae talk?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Nay. There's nothing to talk about."

"Really? No' a thing?"

"Nothing. I'll do what I must, Cam, feelings have little to do with it."

"Aye then. I've told Henry tae get some rest," he replied, crossing his arms. "Marie and I have one o' the guest suites in the family wing, and I'll be there if ye have need o' me."

"It was kind of Marie to stay this long."

"Well, she's a fondness for your wife, you ken. She'll return home tonight, I'll be staying until we finish the bulk o' the questioning, which I hope is sooner rather than later. This plot pal, its beginnings are auld, but I don't believe it had as many members as we'd feared, just dedicated ones."

Sebastian snorted. "Not so dedicated that they're not handing over their co-conspirators with speed."

"Aye, though I suppose that's no' all that surprising is it? These people began this intent on lining their own pockets and furthering their own ambitions. Hardly men and women of _character_, Seb."

"No, that they are _not_. Money hungry rats, I'd say."

"Rats jump off a sinkin' ship. The trick here is tae make sure all the rats have had enough time tae jump."

The prince arched an eyebrow and turned his back slightly to his lifelong friend. Quietly, he reached out and touched the dying blossom of a tiger lily.

"I'm for bed, then." Cameron advised with a loud yawn. "And ye should do the same, we'll need to begin planning your coronation among everything else. "New bairn or no, this pile of mess we're digging out from won't wait, and the people need tae see you anointed, tae know this madness is finished."

"Agreed."

Cameron studied his friend, concerned at how quiet he was. He chose to change the subject.

"She's a bonny lassie, Siana is. I like the name, too. I'm impressed ye came up with it so quickly, though I won't admit that in front of Marie," his tall friend added in a teasing tone once Sebastian had turned around again. He sobered. "Lorelai's a good woman. I'm happy for ye, pal."

Sebastian sighed, a weak smile on his tired features. "Siana's life is begun surrounded by murder and death. She's barely half a day old and already I must shed even more blood to keep her safe."

"You're right. You must." Cameron paused and cleared his throat, choosing his next words with care. "You must be a jumble o' feelings at the moment, but pal, signing those warrants, it had to be done. Don't think otherwise."

"I have no remorse, Cameron."

The taller man's sense of worry wasn't lessened by the hardness in Sebastian's tone, but he knew the prince well enough to let the matter drop. "Alright, then, why not get some rest? I'll see ye in a few hours' time."

Sebastian closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of his friend's departure and then turned his concentration back to the chatter of the birds in the garden. "Aye, no remorse," he whispered, opening his blue eyes once more. "And that's what bothers me."

**xXx**

Sebastian had remained in his office for a bit longer before admitting that he was too exhausted to responsibly continue any work. It was time for sleep.

Exiting his private office he began toward the family's apartments when, as he was moving past a flight of servant's steps, he heard a booming and familiar voice. Stopping abruptly, he listened for it again, before hurrying down the modest staircase to investigate. He arrived at the threshold of a large staff dining room and he quickly entered, surprised at the scene before him.

"For the _last_ time, mate, I'll _not_ explain what private news I carry to Prince Vael! This is an _urgent_ matter. We've ridden hard from Kirkwall, we've had no real sleep or food for days and your guard let us pass! You've got my bloody credentials and no good reason to delay us! Now summon whoever lets Sebastian know what's what or – "

"Donnic?" Sebastian called out in surprise, drawing everyone's attention to him.

Donnic stood in the center of a number of servants, and it was clear the large man was angry. With a frightened looking Walter at his elbow, Donnic looked quite prepared to throttle everyone in the room.

"Sebastian! It's about bloody time! I've been trying to get someone to send for you for nearly an hour!"

One of the larger male servants scowled at Donnic. "That's the _prince_ you're speaking tae, ser! Mind your manners!" he snarled before addressing Sebastian in an altogether different and deferential tone. "Your Highness, this man claims tae know ye, but what he doesn't know is his place! We're tryin' tae – "

"I may not know my _place_," interrupted Donnic, gesturing to Sebastian as he continued. "But I do know him. Owes me ten silver, too."

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head, surprise still on his face. "Donnic, it's very good to see ye! What are ye doing here? Is Aveline with you?" he asked as he walked toward his friend, his hand out. The servants cleared his path and stared as their elegant prince shook hands with and then bear-hugged the large and brazen stranger. "And I'm good for the ten, I assure ye."

"A proper meal and we'll call it even," he replied before his tone grew serious, "but we should speak first."

"Come then," Sebastian agreed before he acknowledging Walter and then turned to his stunned servants. "Forgive me, this man is indeed an old friend of mine. He is welcome here, as is this other young man."

The servant who'd been confronting Donnic blushed. "I apologize."

"None needed, friend, you were just doing your job," Donnic reasoned. "I probably should have knocked on the front door instead."

Sebastian addressed his servants. "I'll see my guests upstairs. Please send tea to my private office."

**xXx**

"Is Hawke safe?" Donnic asked as he, Walter and Sebastian entered Sebastian's office and found true privacy. "The rumors we've heard once in Starkhaven… what of the baby?"

Donnic's question and fearful tone stoked the anger Sebastian had struggled to manage over the past two days. When he'd last spoken with Donnic, they'd been preparing for Sebastian and Lorelai's escape from Kirkwall. He'd been so certain of his choice to bring her to Starkhaven, so confident that he would be able to protect her… yet eight months gone, and this conversation would be nearly the same.

He felt bile burning at the back of his throat as he answered, his tone as even as he could muster. "Our daughter was delivered last night."

"Thank the Maker for that," Donnic sighed in relief as he began to dig into a leather pouch he carried. "Because I have grave news from Aveline and Varric. There's a plot, one they both believe is a very real threat," he explained as he pulled a scroll from his bag. "This is from Varric, it explains things, but the short of it is that someone in Starkhaven is very angry. From what I understand, anyone who is a Vael may be in danger."

Sebastian stared for a moment at the missive that lay in Donnic's now outstretched hand. He felt his heart thud inside his chest as he reached for it, his feelings mixing with a sense of dread. What if their trusted friends had discovered something more than he and Cameron had? Had he missed _another_ threat to his family?

He sensed Donnic and Walter's gazes upon him as he opened and quickly read Varric's writing. He felt a small flash of relief that the dwarf's warning was about the men who were already jailed.

"The plot Varric warns of… A group of mercenaries tried to assassinate Lorelai two days ago," he rasped, staring down at the letter, avoiding the other men's eyes. "They succeeded in murdering my cousin and very nearly killed her."

"Bloody hell, Sebastian," Donnic replied in horror. "Did you get the bastards?"

The prince nodded. "We believe we did. Arrests have been made, but it's only been a few days. I can't help but be afraid I'm missing something more. All of this is… Maker help me, I thought I was ready, Donnic. I thought I'd… " He paused, exhaustion and anxiety on his features as he slowly folded the letter closed. "I'm grateful you brought this to me."

"I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner, and by your leave, we'll stay a few days, and help however we can." Donnic said as he sat forward.

"I would be genuinely pleased for you and Walter to stay, Donnic. I know Lorelai would be very happy to see you both."

"Good, because if I head back to Kirkwall without a complete report on the baby, my bride will hang me by my manhood."

Sebastian chuckled lamely, a weak smile on his face. Donnic studied him and then spoke.

"You look awful, you know, like you're dead on your feet. Let me guess, you've not slept since those mercenaries moved against you, am I right?" he asked, not waiting for the prince's reply. "Sebastian, we've been friends awhile and I've watched you worry over Hawke for some time. I see you're scared, but mate, she's in a palace surrounded by a few hundred of your people. She's got you, tired as you are, and she's got me, the second fiercest guard in the Marches."

"And me!" added Walter, finally speaking since Sebastian had greeted him. "I'm not big, but I'd do anything for Hawke."

Donnic grinned and met Sebastian's tired eyes. "See? You and Hawke aren't alone. Go to bed. We can talk about all this after we three have had some proper sleep. You're worn thin, man."

Sebastian watched the flames in the fireplace for a moment. "I'm more tired than I have ever been."

The brawny guardsman frowned at the sadness in Sebastian's voice but didn't push their discussion further. "Then get some rest. You've earned it."

**xXx**

Anders watched the sky rolling above him, a storm brewing at the outskirts of the city. Dawn was breaking but even the full rays of morning sun weren't bright enough to burn through the thickness of the darkness. It fit his mood, he thought morosely, sighing as he rocked forward, his head in his hands.

He'd not entered his home yet, though he'd returned from the dinner party at Magister Silvasti's hours ago. Instead, he'd settled onto a bench in the rear of his garden. He was too disturbed to sleep, the night's twisted events causing him to wish, for the first time ever, he could seek Fenris's counsel.

Not that Fenris could have offered him any reassurances. The elf had never been anything less than brutal in his opinion of the mages of the Imperium. Anders knew now that he'd simply hoped Fenris had been exaggerating.

Even if just a little.

The home of Magister Silvasti had been an unfathomable monument to both power and money. Those he'd met within seemed to worship everything the man's house symbolized, each mage he'd met had boasted endlessly of their abilities, conquests and revolting experiments. Each had practically salivated at the chance to speak with the Warden mage who'd declared war on the Circle and slain the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall.

How they'd known of his time spent with Justice, he hadn't understood.

He'd done all he could to adhere to the advice of his solicitor, Isabela. He'd smiled and laughed and had deflected as many questions as he could, careful that he shared as few details about himself as possible. The magisters who'd thrilled at their introduction to him had fawned and flattered, though once he'd refused to regale them with the gruesome details of what had transpired in Kirkwall, the crowd around him soon dispersed.

After that, the evening had taken a truly disgusting turn.

Magister Silvasti had entered the dinner hall to great fanfare, the man's slaves announcing him as if he were King Alistair arriving at court, and the evening's guests seemed to react with the same level of deference. Anders had felt awkward as those around him bowed to the elderly man, even more so when their host made a beeline for him and he was the only one not half bent over in respect.

He'd stammered his greeting to Magister Silvasti, inclining his head as the man had stopped in front of him.

"Welcome! You are _most_ welcome in my home, Warden Anders!" the hosting magister's had boomed enthusiastically. Silvasti had then offered his hand to Anders, shaking it before he guided Anders to the front of the hall. "Everyone, if you've not yet had an introduction, please allow me to do so. This man here is my most honored guest this evening! I give you, Warden Anders of Ferelden, herald of the mages' rebellion against the false Chantry, and the _only_ man to have harnessed the power of a Fade Spirit and lived!"

The crowd of guests surrounding them had offered a round of applause and it was then that Anders realized he was part of his host's entertainment for the night. He'd been furious and indignant as his temper boiled behind the smile he'd falsely plastered to his face, but now, as he reflected on the whole of the evening, he realized that Magister Silvasti's parading him about like a show pony had been the highlight of his visit.

For after they'd all dined, Silvasti, who'd had Anders seated prominently at his right, had ushered them all into a small gallery off the hall. What waited within still had Anders's belly in knots.

Nearly a half a dozen slaves, each in various states of repose, were on display. Their naked, skinny bodies were covered in what Anders had instantly recognized as lyrium tattoos, or rather, an amateurish attempt at the intricate and graceful patterns that Fenris bore. These marks, however, had reminded Anders of the scribbles of a young child, and many of the bearers' tattoos appeared inflamed or outright infected.

The other guests had listened carefully to Magister Silvasti's detailing of the purpose and potential of such markings on his slaves, none concerned in the least for the brutal way they were applied. Anders nearly fled when an unmarked slave was brought in, black ink lines outlining where his tattoos would be applied. Wordlessly the poor sod had laid himself onto a small bed that other slaves had brought into the room, his master then explaining the hoped for results of the new pattern of markings.

Magister Silvasti had then offered his great appreciation for the boldness of the 'savagely' murdered Magister Danarius and then shared in perfect, sickening detail the powers that Fenris was able to display. He'd declared his dedication to continuing the slain man's work, moving from one marked slave to the next, forcing each to display the results of their markings, heedless of the agony endured by each subject.

Each victim had his or her tattoos explained, prodded, and then activated, Silvasti forcing each to demonstrate the benefits or failures of each for all who watched. The agony of the marked slaves was resolutely dismissed and none but Anders appeared moved by their pain.

The guests were then encouraged by their host to surround the small bed where the slave whose tracings on his body were still unfilled laid in silence. Silvasti then detailed the hoped for results of this latest selection of patterns and to Anders's complete horror, Silvasti then began the ruthless procedure of imbedding a portion of lyrium under the slave's skin.

Another slave slit a small area within the marking outlines and Silvasti, grandly holding aloft a small sampling of crushed refined lyrium, had an apprentice force some of the stones beneath the lip of the whimpering slave's wound. Silvasti then cast a heat spell directly over the cut, super-heating the lyrium into a liquid state. With sick fascination those around the now writhing and screaming slave watched as the molten blue sealed the wound shut.

It was then that Anders had been unable to contain his outrage at what he was witnessing, quickly casting a rejuvenation spell on the tortured slaves surrounding them before approaching Silvasti's newest victim. The magister's guests gasped in outrage as Anders knelt next to the bed and began to heal the mutilated flesh on the slave.

Silvasti's eyes had narrowed but he'd not stopped Anders' efforts. After the slave's skin was improved, the magister had stepped forward and placed his hand on Anders's shoulder, his grip unrelenting, though he bore a smile. Turning to the others, he'd proclaimed his thanks at Anders's aid, reminding the crowd of Anders's firsthand knowledge of such tattoos. He then played Anders's interference off as if it were planned and he'd expected the Warden to step in.

Brandy and sweets were then offered, the witnesses to the burning slowly leaving the small gallery at the serving staff's insistence. Once alone, Silvasti had not removed his grip on Anders's shoulder, but instead had sent a jolt of controlled lightning through the other mage's body.

Anders had stumbled back slightly before he'd leapt to his feet, ready to defend himself, but Silvasti's hands were at his sides.

"Warden, we do not know each other yet. You are still new to our society and our protocols. It is because of this that you do not find your innards thoroughly _cooked._"

"What you're doing here is malicious and cruel!" Anders had spat in reply. "If you think that I shall simply stand here and witness you torturing innocents, you're – "

The magister had laughed in his face, cutting off the rest of Anders's protest. "What you're witnessing is my efforts to continue some of the most innovative work my friend ever undertook. His life was ruthlessly cut short by his greatest achievement, but there is no reason that his carelessness should impede progress."

"_Innovative_?" Anders had strangled out, his disgust apparent. "Slicing open an elf is innovative? What the bloody hell is wrong with you people?"

"Would you not call your activities in Kirkwall innovative? Were the results not to your liking? You are my honored guest, famous and sought after by all in the Imperium. You are a hero, Warden, your slaughter of the Templars and Grand Cleric is the reason every mage in the Free Marches and beyond is throwing off their yoke your false Chantry has placed upon them!"

"That's not… you _cannot_ compare my fighting oppression to… how can you possibly… it was _war_!"

"Yes, a war _you_ declared. You drew first blood, Warden. That shows us all your commitment to progress, doesn't it?"

Silvasti had watched him closely, shaking his head at his prolonged silence.

"A word of advice, Warden, one you'd be wise to heed. This softness you're displaying right now will only result in your demise. We both know you're capable of accomplishing much and the events in Kirkwall speak volumes of your own acceptance that sacrifices are _required_ to obtain true success. Great men like us must be willing to do what must be done, regardless of the costs. I was certain you understood this."

Anders had been able to do little more than stare at the man, his mind numb, reeling at the implication that his actions in Kirkwall had been viewed in such a way. He'd left the magister's house soon after, but not before the man's words had taken root.

Now, sitting in his garden, he was shaking, recalling the easy acceptance his fellow guests had displayed at the maiming of the slave. He closed his eyes and again could hear their eager questions, saw each unforgiving jab at the swollen flesh of all those Silvasti had marked.

There had been no mercy shown. No humanity, only the results had mattered to them. The lives lost or ruined were simply a part of the process. The ends justified the means, no matter what.

And that, _that_ he couldn't wipe from his mind.

Opening his eyes, he forced himself to think of his unborn child, hoping it would ease his growing panic. He was here for the greatest cause he could imagine, wasn't he? His goals were worthy, he was nothing like those lunatics he'd dined with the night before.

Yet the only image his mind gave him was of Lorelai, of that moment when she'd realized what he'd done in Kirkwall, when she'd known the depth of his deception of her. He saw the horror, disbelief and the very instant when the light of her love for him was gone from her eyes.

Did she – did everyone – see him as monstrously as he viewed Magister Silvasti? Had he been as sick and twisted in his resolve to free the mages in Kirkwall?

Hadn't he been as merciless in his actions as Silvasti had been last night?

"No," he whispered, his chin wobbling as emotion rioted inside his chest. "No!" he denied again, but he couldn't escape the memory of Lorelai's eyes. And he couldn't escape what he'd seen last night.

He stood swiftly and began to pace, rubbing his temples as he tried to banish the overwhelming truth, but it would no longer be denied. A wail escaped his lips as he dropped to his knees.

He was a monster.

**xXx**

Aveline adjusted herself in her saddle again. She'd never enjoyed riding much and the grueling journey they'd undertaken had finished off any pleasure at the activity. They'd ridden almost relentlessly, changing their horses whenever they could, desperate to keep their pace as quick as possible.

And now, looking out at the looming expanse of Starkhaven as their party descended the last of the foothills outside the kingdom, she sighed, nearly as grateful to see the city as she'd first been when she and Hawke had first arrived in Kirkwall.

At least this time the reception would be better.

"Varric? We've only three or four hours of daylight left," she called over her shoulder as the dwarf drew to a stop behind her. "If you're willing, I'd like to double the pace and enter the city proper before nightfall."

"If he's willing? What about me?" Merrill asked sourly.

"I'm sure she means you too, Daisy, don't worry," Varric replied easily. "Red's just a bit grumpy, that's all. She wants to get off her horse and _stay_ off."

"Oh? Why? I think riding this noble creature has been the most wonderful part of this adventure! They're so different from the halla," Merrill observed, not noticing that Varric smiled indulgently at her as Aveline rolled her eyes. "Halla like to spit at people, did you know that? They can spit clear across a camp, too, it's quite something to see."

"Yes, Merrill," Aveline growled. "You've mentioned that a time or two."

"Have I? Sorry, this has all been such a blur!"

"It has," the human agreed as she continued. "As I was saying, I think we're likely to make it before dark if we push our steeds. We don't know Starkhaven and we can't be sure of where it would be safe to camp. I think we'd best be within the city walls before then."

"Agreed," Varric replied. "Let's get a move on then, shall we?"

"Yes, let's!" Merrill declared happily as she clicked her tongue and urged her horse back into motion. "You know, now that I think a bit more on it, I suppose it is rather disgusting, isn't it? I mean, it's _impressive_ the halla can spit so far, but, it _is_ spit, so it's also very yucky. And I wonder where they learn to do that anyway, after all, it's not like they're poisonous, so it's not defensive, which makes me wonder…"

Aveline's nostrils flared and she twisted the leather reins tightly in her grasp, her eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Now, now, Red, we're nearly there," Varric said softly as he passed Aveline on the trail. "Hawke will _know _if you strangle Daisy."

The guard captain, her temper frayed and her patience nearly gone, snorted. "Not if I hide the body properly," she muttered as she, too, urged her horse forward again.

**xXx**

Lorelai slowly opened her eyes, blinking at the sunshine that filled their room. Glancing around as she rubbed her eyes, she guessed it was late afternoon and marveled that she'd slept so long. She supposed though, smiling softly, that nearly being assassinated and giving birth would wear any girl out.

Sighing, she reached out and gently caressed her husband's stubble-covered cheek. "Maker, what a mad few days, my love," she whispered.

Sebastian had come to bed shortly after dawn, climbing in beside her before gently pulling her against him. He'd fallen asleep almost instantly and she'd been content to feel the weight of his arms around her, drifting back to sleep herself.

Siana had spent most of her first night with her mother, who, to her disappointment, was not yet able to nurse her child. The newborn had gone off with her wet nurse some time shortly before Sebastian had arrived. Wondering how her daughter was, Lorelai began to slowly dislodge herself from her husband's weight.

"Darlin'?" he mumbled, one blue eye opening to half-mast.

"Shhh," she soothed, "I'm going to check on Siana. Get some more sleep."

Shaking his head, he rolled onto his back and drew up his knees, scrubbing his face and wiping away the last remnants of sleep. "She's with her nurse," he said in a raspy voice. "I told the staff we were not to be disturbed. I wanted you to rest."

"And I did," she commented quietly. "I was asleep long before you, go back to bed."

"No," he answered, reaching out for her and drawing her back against him. "There's a great deal to do. Arrests were made while you slept and – "

"And they'll still be locked in their cells when you wake up." She sat up, looking down at her exhausted spouse. "You can't solve this in one day, Seb, and no one expects you to."

His reached out and toyed with a lock of her hair. "I signed my first death warrants this morning," he confessed softly, meeting her gaze. "There will be more to come."

"Oh love," she replied, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It can't be helped."

She placed her hand over his heart, her thumb stroking his chest. "That doesn't make it any easier."

Taking her hand in his, he placed a kiss to her palm before abruptly sitting up. "Donnic is here," he announced as he climbed from the bed. "He arrived early this morning with Walter in tow. Varric sent him."

"Donnic? He's here?" she asked as she watched him splash water on his face from the basin.

"Yes, with Walter as well. Varric apparently learned we were in danger and sent Donnic to warn us. Or rather, I expect, Aveline sent Donnic. Either way, he's here, though his news is now old."

"I can't wait to see them, but I wonder how Varric knew to send him?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I plan to find out," he stated, drying his face. "I'm going to ask Varric to come to Starkhaven, I want him to completely review how we gather our information and overhaul things if he deems it necessary."

"Cameron's worked hard to create a network."

He paused, looking at her before slowly tossing the towel away. "Aye."

"Does he know you – "

"He missed this, Lorelai, and it cost Goran his life and I nearly lost everything I hold dear." He held out his hand, stopping her protest. "Don't misunderstand. I don't blame Cam, he's done remarkable work, but he's no spy master."

"But how will – "

He sliced his hand through the air, slapping it down on the basin table. "I will _not_ risk you, or my child, or my kingdom for fear of hurtin' Cameron Avery's feelings!" he barked. He drew a ragged breath, shaking his head as she moved to his side. "Lorelai, I'm fine," he assured her, though he let her arms wrap tight around his waist. His anger grew quiet.

"Seb? Let's go and visit our daughter, alright?"

Kissing her brow, he nodded and turned away to dress.


End file.
